All Good Things
by Zephros
Summary: Bereft in a new world, one seemingly absent of a known danger, he must make a new life; haunted by both his past and by familiar faces acting in strange new ways.  Yet, there is a lesson he must learn.  That all good things come with sacrifice.
1. Prologue: Remember

**All Good Things…**

**Prologue: I Can't Remember**

The fire flickered, the light coming and going with it, reflecting briefly off the windows of the living room. He stood there, tired, drained, and irritated, biting his lip hoping not to add fuel to his wife's ire. She sat on the sofa, arms wrapped around their son, her head resting upon his, mouth moving to whispered words meant to soothe him.

And all he wanted to do was go to sleep. In less than four hours he needed to be ready for practice.

He recalled their last exchange of words.

"It was just a bloody dream!"

"So? That doesn't mean we shouldn't be there for him."

"Not like it'll matter anyway, he'll just forget about it in the morning."

"You're just mad because he's not the son you wanted."

With that she had left to coddle their son as she was apt to do. She was partially correct with her last statement, though by tomorrow she would likely apologize for it. It had been a continuous contention between them for years and more than once had placed undo strain on their marriage. Not to say that she was wrong.

Harry had been a disappointment for the both of them, turning out nothing like he wanted or expected. And when he did try to teach, or even _interact_, with Harry, Lily would admonish him for doing something dangerous. James scoffed, like riding a broom was really that hard, hell, Harry had almost gotten the hang of the child-broom. He had only fallen off a few times; he himself had fallen off a lot more when he learned to ride.

James ground his teeth and worked through his frustration, calmly telling himself this was the life he had chosen and there was no going back; though at times he wondered and wished.

He turned, realizing he was too tired to deal with this now. "I'm going to bed; I need some sleep for tomorrow."

He heard her sigh, not really caring if he pissed her off or not. "Just a little while longer, he seems to be calming down."

"Just douse the kid with a potion already."

"This _kid _is your son."

James rolled his eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth. It was just a bad choice of words."

"Words spoken lightly speak more for the person than those said with thought," was her haughty reply.

James took a deep breath and waited a few seconds, hoping his next words were not said with too much anger. "It's late, I'm tired, and I have to work tomorrow."

"So, call out, your son needs you."

_Or is it you that need me, because you're just as frustrated with Harry as I am? _At least James was honest enough with himself to admit it. He knew Lily liked to hide behind the façade of doting mother. She had called in to work enough times for her boss to threaten her with termination.

"It's not like you need the money."

James frowned. That was a low blow, even for her. She knew what a sore spot that was for him. He did not know if his attitude, Harry's nightmare, or her own insecurities were upsetting her. Because of that, he let it slide. No use in having another row.

"Whatever, I'm going to bed." He paused. "If he gets any worse wake me up and I'll call-in, okay?" He hoped that would placate her.

"Fine. Do whatever want, I won't _abandon_ my son."

James could only shake his head as he turned to walk away, knowing she was angry at him for leaving her the burden. A burden she put on herself every time Harry had some episode. For a moment, his son's bloodcurdling scream echoed in his mind, a call that had awoken them both to come to his aid. They had found him thrashing in his sheets, mumbling incoherent words and nonsense. Of which, the only one James had picked up on was 'basilisk.' In the end, Harry had soiled his garments and sheets, something they were used to, and they had ushered him to the living room where their usual debate about Harry had gone round again.

Granted, he had never screamed quite like that before.

A sob came from behind him, giving him pause. _Oh no…_

Lily was crying, and James sighed, now feeling like a heel for leaving her. He joined her by the couch, offering a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Lily wiped her eyes, refusing to look at him. "Don't be, it's just hard."

"I know, but what can we do? Send him to some reta—" James cleared his throat. "Special needs camp? You already said you didn't want that." Lily had been very vehement about that option.

"I know, I know." She gave their sleeping son a look, before trying to arrange his wild hair. "I just can't see myself doing this for the rest of my life. He's growing up and soon he'll be teenager, then an adult! Is that what I want, to coddle full my grown son because some nightmare scared him?" For a moment her face became clouded. "He should be going to Hogwarts." James could add nothing to that, knowing his own thoughts dwelt therein.

Lily regarded him with two bright greens eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's just not right."

James closed his own, debating sending an owl to his coach. He would be livid, complaining James should have married a more composed wife. That was actually one of the reasons he married Lily; her passion. A great body did not hurt any either. He quickly stowed _that_ thought before he started yearning for the days where sex had still been part of their relations.

Harry stirred, slowly shaking his head and looking around. "Mum, can I have some water…Mum?" He regarded her with a confused expression, one that found its way to James. "Dad?" His head swayed.

"I'll get it." James retrieved the drink, reentering the living room to find Harry staring at the fire, Lily wringing her hands next to him.

Harry drank it with a single swig, his glasses reflecting the flames flickering before him. "I'm tired, sleepy, and my head hurts."

"You just had a bad dream, dear, that's all."

A weak smile graced the child's face. "I think I'm still dreaming." A pause. "I don't want this one to end, it's too nice." He grew quiet.

Lily and James exchanged a weighted glance. She spoke. "Do you want to go back to bed? You can sleep here in front of the fire if you like. Remember, that usually helps you."

Harry regarded her for a long moment before reaching and gently touching her. He looked to his hand and frowned. He withdrew it and held both palm's up in the fire's light, scrutinizing them. He swayed again and leaned back in the sofa. "Why do I feel so weak?"

Lily cleared her throat, worry etched in every line of her face. "Maybe you're hungry, would you like some like a piknese pie? It's your favorite."

"No, it's not. Apple is my favorite, I think. I'm remembering things weird." He turned to them. "You're not even supposed to be alive…" He closed his eyes, fell back on the couch, and drifted off to sleep.

Something was very wrong with their son. "Lily," James whispered, then motioned his head towards the kitchen. She took the hint and rose slowly, so as not to disturb their son. She paused before leaning down and gently pushing him on his back. He opened his eyes and mumbled something, but Lily shushed him. He closed his eyes once more with a smile upon his lips.

Together the parents went to the kitchen, James speaking first as he leaned against a counter. "What did he say?"

Lily ignored him at first, confusion and worry riddling her face. "He said I was beautiful."

Shocked silence was James' only reply, allowing the statement sink to in, coupled with what else Harry had said painted a very strange picture. "I'll send an owl to Coach Rodgerick." He looked back to the living room briefly, his eyes lingering on the couch.

Lily sighed. "Something's wrong with him."

"I know. Do you think his condition could be getting worse? That he's starting to lose his mind?"

A sob escaped from Lily. "Oh God, I hope not." James stepped forward and embraced his wife, letting her cry on his shoulder. "The healers said it had stabilized, that there wouldn't be any more regression."

James patted his wife's back. "I know what they said. I know. Tomorrow we'll take him to St. Mungo's."

"I don't want to lose anymore of him."

James shushed her and pulled her with him to the stairs. Right now what both of them needed was sleep and to deal with this latest setback in the morn. After getting his wife situated James returned to the kitchen to send off the letter, giving a curt statement about his son. Hopefully, the coach would have some heart.

As he let Artemis out the window, he turned to find Harry standing in front of him. "You should be asleep."

"I-I think I am sleeping, but…" His voice trailed as touched his father, much in the same manner he had his mother. "You're real? Alive!" He shook his head, as if trying to clear something from his mind. "I don't understand."

James placed a hand on his son's shoulder and squatted to look in him in the eye. "Harry, me and your mother aren't going anywhere, alright? Just head back to the couch and get some sleep, tomorrow everything will be better."

Harry let himself be lead to the couch once more, where he reluctantly laid down. "I'm not feeling weak anymore. I'm feeling—"

James pulled out his wand and touched it to his son's forehead. There was spark and Harry was out cold, once more in the embrace of dreams. "Sleep, which is something I need to get."

With that he made his way upstairs to crawl in bed with his already slumbering wife.

* * *

><p>They waited outside in a sterile, white hallway as busy healers bustled past, heads bent over rolled parchments; every so oft a patient in white robes would be following. Some had obvious problems, additional growths, missing appendages, wrong colored skin, and a few had less obvious. James watched them go, trying to guess what was wrong with them, offering a few suggestions to his wary wife.<p>

"He has the nimblers, and the last one can't stop eating his own teeth. Oh and that one can only say fuck over and over again." He turned his attention away from the trio of patients being lead by and graced his wife with a smile.

Her response was a weak one, which elicited from him a sigh. He had tried.

He felt her hand cover his. "Thank-you, it's just—"

"I know…Harry. He'll be fine, I think." _I hope._

There had been a scare earlier that morning, where Lily had woken first and found no trace of their son in the house. Her frantic cries had roused him and together they set out into the neighborhood in search of him. It had taken some time, but they had found him sitting atop a slide at the local playground.

After some overreacting on Lily's part, they had escorted him back to the house, Lily lecturing him the entire way about how dangerous it was for him to be out on his own. His only reaction was to stay quiet and stare at the sidewalk. Him roaming on his own had been worrisome, but actually leaving the house has been the more distressing part. There had been a weak compulsion placed on all the doors to make people leave them be. It took most visitors by surprise the first time, but they generally just waved it off.

With Harry's condition, it should have been impossible for him to leave.

His musings were interrupted as his son walked out of the door, an aging healer following. He patted Harry on the shoulder and offered him a smile, one their son did not return. "Have a seat, kid, while I talk to your parents a bit."

Harry refused to meet anyone's gaze as he sat on the bench previously occupied by Lily and James. The healer pulled out his wand and waved it, muttering a quick incantation. James felt something fall over his body, but the sensation faded.

Privacy ward in place, the healer spoke. "What happened exactly?" His cheery tone was gone, replaced with one of concern.

Lily seemed to wilt, fearing the worst no doubt.

James spoke. "He woke-up screaming from some nightmare. We tried to calm him down, but he kept thrashing. Eventually, he stopped and we brought him downstairs."

"He likes sleeping on the couch when he has nightmares," Lily provided.

"He woke-up, saying he thought he was still dreaming and that he felt weak. I put a sleeping charm on hi—"

"You did what?"

James cleared his throat and continued. "He said he was feeling a lot better and wasn't tired, but I didn't want him walking about in his state." He quickly finished giving his wife a sheepish grin. "You looked like you needed the sleep, hun."

"How lon—"

The healer cleared his throat. "A sleeping charm would do him no harm, so long as it was not used often." He quirked an eyebrow at James.

"I don't do it _that_ often, maybe every couple of months. Usually when he's being rambunctious at night and you," he stared at his wife, "need sleep." Lily looked mollified, but far from pleased. "So has he gotten worse?" His tone fell. "I didn't think the disease could get worse."

The healer brought a hand to his goateed chin, stroking it while gazing at a subdued Harry. "No, the disease can't get worse. Atchin's Delirium only affects certain parts of a magical's mind. Usually short-term memory retention, and only because it settles into the forefront of the brain. In his case, the Delirium has already gone, leaving behind only some residue in his mind." He lowered his voice. "Mostly mental contamination with no physical scaring, he was very lucky in that regard, if you'll recall."

Lily nodded. "It meant he would not get any worse, just that he wouldn't get any better. But last night he thought we were dead!"

"Yes. There is actually an emerging treatment for survivors of the Delirium. A way for an Legilimens to go into their mind and try and remove the curse, for lack of better term for it. It's not ground-breaking, and the success rate is not that high, depending usually on the patient's willingness to cooperate."

James felt his chest swell and saw hope bloom in his wife's green eyes. "Does that mean…"

"But, I won't be recommending that treatment for your son."

Those same green eyes blazed. "And why not?"

The doctor smiled. "Because young Harry there does not need it."

_What? _"Of course he needs it, he thought—!"

"Harry has been cured."

A pregnant silence filled the air, wherein relief dwelled, unable to be born save through two parents too afraid to hope.

"Did you just say…that he's cured?"

"But, I thought there…"

The healer's smile broadened further. "I don't know what happened last night, but Harry shows no signs whatsoever of having been afflicted. Well, there are some holes in his memory, given how he has lived for the past six years, but other than that I would say he is a normal, if a bit introverted, young boy."

Liberation was born in the form of tears streaming down pale cheeks. James seemed to sway, unable to comprehend that the years old burden he had lived with was gone. Lily gave him a vicious embrace, muttering thanks to her god, and then delivered the same to the healer, who was startled.

"I really didn't do anything to help him." He tried to say, but both parents ignored him.

Lily's next target was Harry, who was quickly overwhelmed, struggling under his mother's iron grip and sodden cheeks.

And James looked on with a wistful smile and moistened eyes. He wiped them away, not wanting to get too weepy like his wife.

James and the healer exchanged a few more words about check-ups, just to make certain, before the father bid the healer farewell and joined his family.

* * *

><p>The euphoria of being a family quickly faded into disappointment. Instead of the bright-eyed child they yearned for, they got a sullen one devoid of cheery reactions and prone to distrustful glares. When giving him hugs, he would stand stock still, and once Lily thought she felt him shuddering. It added up to a confusing week for them; they spent their nights before the fire discussing ways to get him to be comfortable with them, while he spent the days sequestered in his room.<p>

Bidding the healer a visit only gave them the advice of giving Harry time and distance. What he had gone through had been a traumatic experience, similar to waking up from a groggy sleep that lasted years and suddenly finding yourself able to do things you thought previously impossible. He was just overwhelmed and needed time to adjust.

Weeks passed and James returned to work while Lily stayed at home and filled the motherly role, hoping giving her son love would turn his attitude.

Coming home late one eve, a tired James entered the foyer to hear his mother crying, while Harry stared morosely into an empty hearth. He sighed, putting away his equipment and wanting nothing more than a hot bath. Walking over, still clad in dirt-smeared pants and blood-stained shirt, he stood over his wife and addressed his son. "Go to your room, Harry, me and your mother have to talk."

In a low voice, he responded. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"She stuck me to the chair." James thought he heard some bit of regret in Harry's tone. "I'm sorry…Mum." His lips thinned at saying the word, and for a moment his eyes watered, but he cleared them away with an agitated swipe of his sleeve.

James canceled the charm and let Harry dash up the stairs, hearing the door slam loudly behind him. He sighed again. "What happened?" he asked, bending down to collect his sobbing wife and help her to the sofa.

Collecting herself took a moment. "I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. He did what he normally does," she sniffled, "but then he said I wasn't his mother."

"What?"

"He said I needed to stop pretending and let him go." A fresh round of tears threatened to overcome her, but she took a breath and steeled herself. "I hugged him harder, and then he struck me, screaming his mum and dad were dead."

_Oh man._ "So I slapped him and told him to watch his mouth." James gawked. "Don't look at me like that. I'm tired of treating our son like's he's glass. He acts normal. He cleans-up and walks around the neighborhood. So if he's a normal child, I'll punish him like one."

"What happened next?"

"He tried to run away, so I stuck him to the couch and told him how I felt, what I had to deal with while he was sick. What we had to put up with. He started shouting back about letting him go and dropping the stupid façade. He said none of this could be real, that I needed to stop desecrating his _real_ mother's memory." She hesitated.

"You slapped him again, didn't you?"

"Not very hard. I was more distraught than angry. I kept thinking that maybe the disease had made our son insane." Her eyes widened. "I hope that's not it, but why else would he be acting this way. The doctor said he was fine!" There was both anger and panic mingled in her voice. James made a mental note not to take Lily to the next examine; at least if she were in a state like this.

"Maybe he's just confused, getting the nightmare mixed up with being awake. Remember, that night he said something about dreaming?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain the last thing he said. I asked why he couldn't just accept that we loved him."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing for a while, he just stared at the wall. I let him stew, hoping I had gotten to him. Then he said it was hard to love someone he had never known. And that's when I broke down. Our son doesn't remember all those times we were there for him." She took a breath. "No wonder he's so distant!"

James looked to his wife and came to a decision. "Hon, you're going back to work."

"Why?"

"Because Harry has you at your wit's end. I'll take the week off while you go back to work. How does that sound?"

"It sounds nice, but our son loving us sounds better."

James could not argue with that.

* * *

><p>The few days following, James found his son slowly descending the stairs. "Morning!" he called from the kitchen as he was putting the finishing touches on a ham sandwich. "It's nothing like your mum makes, but it'll still fill you up."<p>

Harry looked at the sandwich in question before sitting at the table as James brought him the meal and a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry seemed somber as he sat down, eyeing the food in front of him. He pushed it away, looking a bit green.

"Harry, breakfast isn't an option. You need to eat." He used his dad-voice; it usually did the trick when Harry was being difficult.

His son looked to him with two green eyes that seemed to shimmer for a moment, before resuming his gaze at the food. With deliberate motions he set about eating with slow, purposeful chews.

James only shrugged at the boy's behavior, chalking it up to him adjusting to life. _He looked ready to cry. Maybe he stepped on a bug and realized it wasn't coming back to life._ He snickered and tried for small talk, maybe pulling the boy's mind from such thoughts. "So what do you do all day, stare at your ceiling in your room?"

"No." Harry responded hollowly, attention still upon his meal.

"Okay…met any of the local kids? The McNillan's down the row are pretty nice lot." James began cleaning his mess—small as it was—a habit that had taken Lily years to instill in him.

Harry shook his head and continued eating.

_Okay, this is getting nowhere fast._ "Don't you play?"

Harry shifted his eyes a bit. "Yeah. He—I play with the Quidditch figures sometimes."

"The Puddlemere United ones I got you?"

Harry nodded and took a sip from his glass.

James pondered in the silence, having asked that question on a hunch. A feeling his son had been dodging his initial query. The figures he had gotten Harry belonged to his own team; the Falmouth Falcons.

"Okay. After breakfast why don't you head outside and enjoy the day some. I've got some repairs your mum wants me to get started on."

He went to the living room and started examining the lose stone in the hearth that Lily had been bugging him about for months. Her words rang in his mind. _I know I could do it just as easily as you, but you're the one who said you wanted to do all the repairs._

He sighed, now regretting that stance. His sticking charm had failed, for some reason wearing off after only a few weeks. Was there something in the mortar? One of the enchantments interfering with additional charms? He groaned._ I don't want to replace the whole damn hearth._

He cast a few spells on the stone, hoping some errant curse had not found itself within it; though the likelihood of that was not very high. Soon he heard the front door close and frowned at Harry not even saying he was leaving. Shaking his head a thought came to him about his son's dubious answer earlier. _Should I?_

Stone set aside, mind made up, James scaled the stairs and entered his son's neat and tidy room. _This is unnatural._ James recalled his own room as a kid being littered with debris, most broken from his aggressive playing. It had driven his quiet mother to despair more than once. He rifled through a few chests that held what Lily deemed safe toys for Harry. Much to his relief they were unorganized, but he did not miss the layer of dust coating them. Before the cure, his son would occupy his time with playing, now it seemed he had found a different time-waster.

_ But what?_

He looked under the bed, through the closet and dresser drawers, finding nothing out of the ordinary but lint. _He lied about it, so he'd want it hidden._

James sent his mind back to his earlier years, trying to remember where he had stashed his more questionable items. His lock-knife, his girl magazines, and other things his parents would not have approved of. His brown eyes sought the floorboards. If he recalled, there had been one or two lose that he had fixed sometime last year.

He brought out his wand and muttered a few words above each plank, watching none even budge, until he got to one in front of the closet. It jumped open, revealing several rolls of parchment. James only stared, slowly reaching down and unfurling one, confused eyes disbelieving what he was seeing. "When did Harry learn to write?"

With a few waves James copied the parchments and their writing, quickly replacing the loose board and making his way to his own room, where he stashed the scrolls for later.

Back in the living room he tried working further on the hearth and other small projects, but the allure of the parchments kept his mind distracted. What had his son wanted to hide? Had he written them? James doubted it, but Harry should not have been able to read them either. It was a quandary. He would wait until tonight when they put their son to bed.

* * *

><p><em>I don't know why I'm doing this, but it helps. Helps ground me, because I don't know what's going on. Sometimes I forget what I'm thinking, or I just wander around lost. I remember being lost and I remember not caring about it, until later it seems I come back to myself. <em>

_ What's happening to me? My name is Harry James Potter. My name is Harry James Potter. My name is Harry James Potter…_

_ It doesn't hurt as much anymore. At first my forehead, where my scar was supposed to be, hurt, almost like it was on fire. I thought Voldemort was close._

_ My memories, they're still coming and going. I can remain myself for longer periods now. Mostly. _

_ They took me to a healer yesterday. He asked me a lot of questions. He wanted to know how I felt, what I was thinking, what I thought of my fake-parents. I told him mostly lies, tried to act young and lost. He bought it. Though, apparently he told my captors I was cured of some disease. What trick are they trying to pull on me? _

_ I'm Harry James Potter._

_I went for another walk today and everything was normal. Whoever is behind this can't be affecting the whole world; just me. I think something has been done to my mind. Am I sleeping? It explains why I'm so young, why my parents and the world feel so real. I almost want them to be real…but I think that is what they want me to think. Get my guard down._

_ I'm Harry James Potter._

_ It happened again. I woke-up, smiled, and just stared at the ceiling all morning, no recollection of my past coming to mind. When I came to myself again, I felt like destroying something. I don't want to be that boy, the one whose mind I'm occupying. I don't want to be some vegetable where these people take care of me._

_ How can anyone live like that?_

_ I guess I've accepted where I am is real and not some trap. This boy's mother was angry with me, I had said too much, but she just wouldn't leave me alone! She was crying, and begging me to remember. I don't think any actor could've been that convincing. This boy is her son, and she thinks he's back to normal, but instead she just has me temporarily. Until I leave here and go home, or until the boy forgets to remember me…_

_ I'm Harry James Potter._

_ Another episode, but it didn't last as long. Somehow the boy found these letters and tried to read them. Or stare at them long enough for me to wake-up. Am I becoming this boy? Is this place permanent? It's not so bad, really. He's got great parents, makes me wonder if mine would have come out like them. But I want to go home. I miss Hermione and Ron. I miss Hogwarts._

_ Something is wrong with me. I keep getting headaches and the boy keeps wondering around. This Harry is doing something to me, whispering to me, asking me things. I'm going nuts. It's like he's curious, like he wants to be me, like he wants to become me…_

_ I can't remember everything. There are holes, and they come and go. I think when he looks at my memories, I can't and then I forget them, until he's done with them. The boy is borrowing my past!_

_ I don't know what to think or what to do. It's his body, but he wants to be me. I don't want to disappear. I want to go home._

_ I'm Harry Potter and I lub ma prants._

_ I like my parents. I like when my mum gives me hugs and kises. I like when dad play figures with me. I want to ride on a brum again but mummy won't let me. She says I get hurt. I hurt some. In my head. The other boy likes to talk and talk ad talk. He talks two much. I like just liek to watch. He says I need to write and to read, or he will go away._

_ I think he's scared. I'm not, because I like my parents and I like him. He makes my head hurt sometimes. He is always wanting to be in here without me, but we can both be in here. He says it's mine, but he uses it a lot._

_ I want to stop writing, but he won't let me. He keeps yelling at me not to stop. And I can't. He is angry, and he is getting quiet. I think he is sad._

_ I don't know what happened, I don't want to think about it. He's gone. Not just quiet, or asleep, just gone. I remember everything now, too, no holes. Hogwarts, Voldemort, Dumbledore, all of it._

_ And the boy._

_ I don't know what to think. Was it my fault? He got angry with me for being in control. He said it was his turn, but I fought him back. I didn't want him to have control; I was tired of being in some dark place while he forgot me for a few hours. While he forgot everything! That is all he wanted to do was forget things. He would forget his parents, what they looked like until he saw them again. He would forget his toys until he got bored and explored his room. He wasn't watching my memories, trying to be me. He was making me forget them! One by one, like some virus!_

_ Why did he want to forget everything?_

_ How could he even forget himself?_

_ I'm not sure what I feel. He's gone and I'm relieved, because he was making me insane, but I didn't want him to go like that. He had loving parents, and they'll miss him. Though they think I'm him. I feel like a monster. I don't want to be glad he's dead, or gone, or whatever, but I can't help it. It feels good to be alone in my head again. But, this isn't where I belong. This isn't my home or my parents, but I don't think there's anything I can do about it._

The papers drifted slowly from his unclasped hand, to settle upon the hardwood floor, while his mind became unsettled. Thoughts of varying kinds filled his head, each vying for attention, each trying to lay claim on one emerging emotion or another. Anger was the most prevalent, stemming from what he read and believing it to be true. It was too sick to be a prank. Wasn't it?

He clamored to his feet and leaned against the doorframe, mind still a tumble. He wanted to know how something like this could happen. How had something like this happened? Was the second boy, the one writing, his real son and the first some vegetable they had loved for no reason? But the second said this was not his home.

"Lily!" He called, not realizing how dry his throat was.

She came walking from the study, an extra bounce to her step. The week off from Harry had done her good.

"James?" Her worry was evident.

"You need to read these." He reached down, grabbed the scattered papers, and handed them to her.

"What are they?"

"I found them in our son's room under a floorboard."

She took them, a half-smile quirking her lips. "You found them in our son's room? Okay, I'll bite."

"You do that."

Lily brushed past him to have a seat at the kitchen table while he helped himself to the bourbon cabinet. He withdrew a glass, poured himself a healthy amount, and downed it, loving the burning sensation that wormed down his throat. He poured himself another, knowing he would need it when Lily was done.

Already she was rifling through the papers, her eyes skimming them quickly. She was shaking her head slowly, the same motion James had been making. What was written in those sheets was just too absurd to be real, yet how else had they gotten there? The coincidence of their son's recovery and those words was just too great.

"What the hell kind of sick joke is this, James?" She rose to her feet.

James took a slow sip from his glass, letting her see it. "I found them in our son's room under a floorboard." He made sure to speak slowly and emphasize every word. "This is no joke. Our son wrote those."

"Bullshit!" Tears welled-up her eyes. She looked down to the papers and tried to repair the damage she had incurred to the crumpled papers. Lily's anger began to wane and her shoulders began to wilt. "What's happening to our son?"

On cue, James walked forward and embraced his wife. Together they walked into the living room. Taking a seat he felt a comfortable warmth spread from his stomach, reaching to every part of his body. There they held each other while they tried to work through their feelings of the situation, and to discuss if there was any possible way this could be a hoax. Part of James, a guilty part, was hoping it was not. He honestly had to admit to himself, that an active—if withdrawn child—was preferable to one who barely recalled his own father's name.

* * *

><p>The next morning saw the sun rise and dark clouds gather. Lily again called in to work, citing familial troubles. Her boss' response, a howler, had been loud enough to rouse Harry, who was currently sitting across from James eating a breakfast of waffles and eggs. Lily sat at his side, green eyes never leaving her plate, while James was busying himself with the Prophet. Anything was better than trying to talk to his son.<p>

_So, tell me boy, who the hell are you and why did you see fit to murder my real son?_ That is what James wished to say, but judging from the letters, the child staring at him was not that mentally stable. So he preferred to read the paper, waiting for Harry to leave.

Harry cleared his throat, but James kept his attention on the paper folded before him. It seemed that a seer of some purport had died in France last night. The paper claimed it ironic that she had predicted her own death, though it was not as violent as she had thought. Apparently, she had died in her sleep of old age.

Harry cleared his throat again, louder this time. James held back a sigh, wishing Lily would see what he wanted.

"Yes, dear?" Lily's voice wavered for a moment.

James drew his attention away from the news. He stared at Harry for a moment, only seeing some stranger stare at him with a face he had come to love and regret.

"I was wondering something." He gathered his courage. "I was hoping, now that I'm better, that I could go to Hogwarts. For school."

Lily opened her mouth a moment, clearly not expecting that. James was not either. He wanted to be mad that this unknown had first settled into a body not his own, and then wanted to live its life. Yet he recalled how lost he had sounded in the letters. "That is something that me and your mother are still discussing. We don't know if you're ready for that kind of shock."

He looked crestfallen.

Lily gave James a quick glance before speaking. "It also depends on what you remember of us teaching you." _What is she up to? _"You remember how to read, right? And the arithmetic also?"

Harry slowly nodded his head, his green eyes never leaving his half-finished breakfast.

_We never even tried to teach him arithmetic._

Lily gave Harry a weak smile. "See that means you might get to go. We were worried you'd have to be retaught."

"No, I remember." He took a breath and stared at James, almost defiantly. "You even taught me how to ride a broom."

"That's right."

"Then I can go?" There was a challenge in his voice.

"We'll think about it." James replied evenly.

Harry's eyes lingered on him a moment before settling on his mother's. Lily looked to be on the verge of tears, evidence enough how strained the conversation had become. "He's right, it's something we have to discuss."

"Fine. Can I be excused?"

"Yes, but we want you back by lunchtime, no skipping it like yesterday." Came James response.

Harry left the table and made for the back door, angry steps taking him farther from his family. He opened the door harder than necessary, but paused in the threshold, head lowered. He turned.

"uh…thanks for breakfast," he muttered, almost a whisper.

James had no response for the abrupt change, but Lily saved him.

"You're _our_ son. Now go play…and don't be too hard on yourself. Your father and I are just glad to have you back." James bit his tongue, not wanting to contradict his wife in front of Harry.

They resumed breakfast, James wanting a few moments to compose himself before broaching the subject with his wife. He only lasted two bites. "One, we never even considered Hogwarts. Two, suddenly he's _our_ son? Three, what about what he did to our _real_ son?" James was shouting by the end.

Lily arched a single eyebrow and continued chewing her meal in peace, letting him stew in his words. Muttering a curse, James used her silence to calm himself. _If I'm glad to have a son again, why am I mad at her? I mean, I'd love to play Quidditch with Harry. Show him how to service a broom, take him to my games…_

It was then James realized why he was angry, why the thought of looking at his son hurt so much. Because no matter how much he thought he would like a better child, the stranger behind those familiar eyes was not his son.

"Better?" Lily asked calmly, though it seemed her eyes shimmered a bit.

"Some. He's not our son; he can't replace Harry. It's not like he's some broom we could turn in for a better model."

"Are you telling me this or yourself?" She placed a hand over his; he welcomed the warmth.

"Both of us." He ground his teeth. "But, you seem to think otherwise."

She looked to him with a touch of melancholy peeking in her eyes. "I know our son had problems, and that we loved him, no matter how hard things were with him." Her voice wavered and she began to tear up. "But, I don't think he's gone. I think he's still in there, somewhere, just maybe lost."

James shook his head. "You read the note. Our son was forgotten."

"Which makes no sense." She withdrew her hand, stood, and began to pace, her voice brittle. "Our son can't be gone just like that. Something happened, something that changed in his mind. Maybe it has something to do with the disease. Maybe whoever is walking around is someone our son created in his dreams. Maybe they're one in the same."

"Maybe they're not."

Lily wiped her eyes. "I'm getting tired of crying. I'm getting tired of not knowing what is going on with my son."

"So you're just going to ignore what has happened? Not think about it?" James could not imagine his wife would be that much of a coward. "We could show the healer the papers and see what he says."

She stopped. "Then what? Declare Harry insane? That our son invented another persona in his own diseased mind that took on a life of its own and that persona made him forget himself?"

"It'll give us answers."

Lily removed her wand and pointed it towards the living room. "_Accio _papers!" Papers in hand, she went to the door.

"Wait! Where the blazes are you going?"

"To the healer. I'm going to get answers and no matter what he says, I'm coming back and giving my son a hug." With that curt reply, she left and was gone with an audible pop.

James sighed and stared at his breakfast, no longer even wanting to taste it. He kicked the table and did the only thing he could; waited.

* * *

><p>Harry came back first, quiet as usual, though he did pause to say hello at lunchtime. James let him eat in silence, himself not wanting to talk either. Too much was bogging down his mind, pulling it from one side to the other. Like a charging erumpent had run through his thoughts, then had its horn explode on top of it all.<p>

After lunch Harry had returned to his room while James sat in the living room working on his broom, oiling it and checking the bristles for drag. It was a custom Nimbus 2000, geared more for flexibility than speed, but he was a chaser and that required maneuverability over all else. This was also completely unnecessary since he had already done it the day prior. Right now he was just going through the motions. Wishing he had his own son beside him, asking about what kind of polish to use. Asking if he could play Quidditch in school.

He sighed. Hogwarts had been an issued settled years ago due to Harry's condition, but now it seemed he was normal. Or completely nutters.

He looked at the shine in the broom, admired its elegant shape and sturdy build.

He closed his eyes, "Harry!"

There was silence for a moment before he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Yes?"

James stood broom in hand. "Let's go outback, I want to teach you something." James started walking, expecting his son to follow. Disappointment was not his to have.

Outside revealed a spacious yard of trees, bushes and a creek winding through it. Living at the edge of the suburbs had its advantages, owning all the land around his house had even more.

James turned to address Harry. "This is the latest model to come out this year; the Nimbus 2000. When it comes to speed, it tops last year's broom by ten miles an hour. But that's not something I care about. The reason I switched to a Nimbus this year and not the new Comet 4600 is because the comet stopped trying to compete and went mass market."

There were also rumors abounding that the team that had worked on the Comet Pro-series had left and were developing their own broom series.

James brought the broom closer to Harry so his green eyes could scrutinize it. "The shaft at the end is charmed to direct where you want it to go. The charms in the back control when you slow down and how fast you go. The bristles themselves are what propel the broom, so you have to make sure each one is in line to get maximum performance. But, you remember all this, don't you?" The question was almost an accusation.

Harry licked his lips, staring from the broom to his father. He nodded slowly, "Yes."

"Then I don't—"

"But it's all fuzzy." He hastily added. "I don't remember all of it."

Something stirred within James, aided by the quiet plea in the boy's voice. He closed his eyes then opened them, no longer seeing a stranger's stare, but a lost child trying to find his way in an unknown world. A child who thought his parents were long dead but suddenly had some to call mum and dad. "Do you want me to show you…again?"

A smile fought its way onto his son's face. "Yes…please?"

James smiled and sat on his haunches, bidding his son closer. "Okay. See the bristles, how I have them fanned out more on the left than on the right? Well, I catch the quaffle with my left arm, so I want to bank to the left faster to protect it. I don't do this every game, I try to switch it up usually tossing a coin. If I did it consistently, the opposing beaters would pick up on it."

"I didn't know you could do that."

James smirked. "This is the pros, every little trick you use could help win the game."

As the two talked, father to son, the afternoon waned, the sun getting closer and closer to the horizon. By the end, Harry was broom bound, soaring through the sky, a smile plastered to his face as the wind rustled his black hair. Not too high, though, the concealment enchantments only worked so far.

As James watched his son—shouting pointers as he went—he could not help but think he was a born natural, from the way the he flew with the broom, to the way he picked up on his father's instructions.

And James relished every second of it.

It was when he saw a figure standing in the shadow of the back door did he bid Harry come down. Upon the ground James praised his son, ruffling his hair and noting he would have to rework the bristles; Harry was quite the aggressive flyer. "Time to tuck-in, your Mum's back from her errands."

James wondered why she had been gone for most of the day, he even expected bad news considering how well it had been going.

Upon reaching the house Lily promptly drew Harry into her arms, hands smoothing over his small frame, face tucked into his shoulder. It was obvious the intense embrace made him uncomfortable, but he leaned into in time. She laughed and withdrew, smiling, eyes glimmering. "Go ahead inside, me and your father will be in shortly to get dinner started."

Harry nodded before turning to James. "Do you want me to put your broom up?"

James sensed a hesitation in his voice. "Sure, could you put my supplies up, too?"

"Sure."

There was an awkward moment, where it seemed Harry longed for something, but James hesitated. It almost seemed a blasphemy to go further than he had, give more of himself to this child. The moment passed as he embraced his son, before breaking away and shooing him into the house.

"Thank-you," Lily said giving him a kiss. "That's just what he needed."

"It's what I needed, too." A pause, where this possible moment of bliss could be shattered by a healer's professional opinion. "I don't want to hear what the healer said, but I'll go crazy not knowing."

Lily blew out a sigh. "Not healer. Healers. I've been all over Britain talking to anybody I thought could help."

"Harry's healer didn't know?"

Lily shrugged. "All he said was Harry had gone through a traumatic experience and the papers showed that confusion perfectly. Apparently, the papers made him revise his opinion. He thinks maybe the disease took longer to go away than he thought; it's just that Harry was good at hiding what he was going through. He also said it made more sense for the disease to gradually leave than to abruptly disappear."

"What did the other experts say?"

"A lot of nothing. I went to six different experts, and some I think were talking out their arse. One, a mind-healer, said maybe Harry might not have had a problem with memory retention, just memory recall. That would explain how he can remember things we taught him and how he could be normal. Kind of like waking-up after a long nap."

"How does that explain the two personalities? And him missing Hogwarts, Dumbledore, and that Voldemort guy?"

"Once the one buried got a purchase, the disease tried to fight back and it confused him. He eventually won out because the disease was weakened. At least, that's the best I could figure since everyone had a different opinion. But they all answered my question. The boy in there is our son, fully and completely."

James gazed upon his wife's brilliant smile and could not remember the last time she had looked so radiant. "So he's going to Hogwarts?"

"I don't want him to." Lily spoke with regret. "But, I think he does." A wistful smile graced her features.

"I'll tell him while you get dinner ready; I know you're tired of crying." She laughed and two entered the house as the sun dipped into the horizon, leaving the family to enjoy a normal evening for the first time in years.

* * *

><p><strong>AN::** For those familiar with my posting stories, then you know the usual weekly updates. For those that don't. There will an update once a week on Friday, barring RL issues. That said, this story is not completely written in it's entirety. I have just the first year written and edited. There is I hope a large enough gap between this and the upcoming years to keep the updates consistent. If not, there shouldn't more than a delay of a month or two. Took me four days to write year one, surprisingly. I have other ideas bouncing in my head, but I said fuck it, sat down, and started writing this one. It had been far too long since I started in on a story start to finish.

To those that read I hope you enjoyed it.

And the usual. I don't have a beta any more so this has probably got a few spelling errors that I missed in the editing process. Any pointing them out will be thanked and they will be corrected. Any other critiques will be welcomed and worked on with due diligence.

Till next week then, where the shocks begin. :)

-byl, out.


	2. Chapter 1: Adjustment

**All Good Things…**

**Chapter 1: Adjustment**

Above a lonely moon shone, casting subdued beams across a varied landscape. The light played across tranquil water, wherein a giant beast slumbered. To the left was a carpet of green, stretching into the horizon, with strange mists and screams whispering through the trees; the promise of something forbidden.

Basking in the scenery was Harry Potter, who stood upon a tower of stone, mortar, and magic. Below him sprawled a majestic caste. A place of learning and growing, both familiar and strange to his youthful green eyes. He knew its many corridors and even knew many of its hidden secrets, but that was from another castle and what felt like another life.

In that life he had faced adversaries, both primal and human. Life had been much dearer to him there, when a single miscalculation could have meant his own.

Now he found himself in a world bereft of the evils he knew, the struggles he thought were to be his. It was both a relief and a missing comfort. There a madman wanted him dead; here all he needed worry about was assignments. He supposed he could start over, find friendship in others, but that was a difficult task for him. He found searching out for those faces had caused too much confusion, so left his eyes to wander the stone floor instead. They could not replace what had been lost. What he felt had been taken from him; all because of grief.

Harry recalled that precious moment all too clearly.

Rage had suffused through him, mingling with disbelief. A crazed witch's laugh had mocked him, driven him forward, to grasp that one piece of family he had attained from a life without such pleasures. A friend had held onto him, restraining him, knowing what would happen, trying desperately to prevent it. Harry had not cared, had not been thinking properly. His entire focus was fixed upon bringing Sirius Black back from oblivion. Lupin's hold had been tenuous from the start, and Harry recalled laboring against it.

The strong arms had given, and Harry slipped through. Only when that curtain was before him did he think he had made a grave mistake.

The voices had greeted him next, embracing him in a dark and cold place. There had been pain, worse than anything he had ever felt, reaching deeper than his body, past his mind, and stemming from a place he had never thought to feel. He knew the sensation now, the power of a soul screaming in anguish. Pulling against strings that tied him down, keeping him in a place it was not ready to leave.

The voices left him then as he tumbled in the dark, lost and bereft of sense, of both time and physical. He did not know how long he dwelt there, howling in the nothingness, but that eternity ended with him again feeling, smelling, hearing, and seeing. Somehow his soul had brought him to this world, back into the realm of the living, contained within a child that wanted nothing more than live day-to-day forgetting each thing he came across. His experience sharing this body had been maddening, watching another see his memories, feeling him forget them.

In the end there had been a struggle, him unyielding while that child thrashed within his mind.

Then forever silence.

The child had forgotten himself, leaving Harry a hefty burden upon his heart, and a life that was now his to live.

Through that soul's own handicap, Harry had inherited everything he had always dreamed. A family that loved him dearly, and a life freed from the threat of death; a burden he had bore since first entering the magical world.

He should be feeling nothing but joy, but it left a horrible, bitter taste. Only through a sacrifice of his own life, and a crippled child, had he attained this dream.

"I never wanted it like this," he whispered to the soft breeze playing through his hair. It felt like every happy moment he felt was now forever tainted by that a sudden revelation, he knew why he had kept him to himself these past weeks; at some level he felt he did not deserve friends again.

_Which is stupid!_ He kicked the wall before him. He drew a breath and gazed once more upon the peaceful landscape, letting its soft ways creep through his mind, soothing what wounds lay there; that the scars of a life lived in jeopardy had left. It brought him some measure of peace, some closure.

In place of the paralyzing guilt, he felt gratitude to the child whose body was now his. Through his own act, he had blessed Harry with another chance at life. One Harry would be a fool to cast aside for wallowing in guilt.

With renewed purpose he gazed outward, remembering that the castle may be familiar, but those living within its walls contained numerous surprises. Many of them with known faces but unknown habits and actions. Of which was the head of the school.

He sighed and turned around, eyes going to a slight figure haloed in a doorway. "Hello, ma'am."

"Mr. Potter." Came a crisp voice, tinged with the weight of experience.

"How long have you been there?"

A hint of a smile showed in her shadowed face. "Long enough for you to notice."

She took a halting step forward, betraying a limp. Grasped between her hands, aiding her steps, was a gnarled walking stick, crowned with a large, polished crystal. She possessed silver hair streaked with iron gray held in a loose braid. Lines were etched in her calm face, framing two hauntingly familiar blue eyes, though these were devoid of the expected twinkle.

Her gait brought her to where Harry stood, while her eyes took in all that Harry's had. "Quite beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry was not sure what to say, or even how to act. "Am I in trouble?"

A mirthless smile was his answer. "Is that what concerns you when the Headmistress finds you past hours? Are you planning something that would warrant such trouble?"

"No."

"Well then, I don't see that you have anything to be afraid of."

Harry was slightly confused, considering many of his bunkmates had been discussing how strict Headmistress Dumbledore was. "Right."

She chuckled. "I take the rumors of my harsh reprisals have reached your ears?"

"Er…something like that."

"Mr. Potter, most students your age would not be gazing upon something beautiful deep in thought. They would be happy and exhilarated to be here, merrily falling asleep without any care to the world. You, on the other hand, do not exhibit such normal behavior. Thus, I can deduce, that something is wrong, lending this to be extenuating circumstances."

Harry got a feeling there was something more to her judgment than just observation. "You talked to my parents, didn't you?"

She looked affronted. "Merlin, no. When there is trouble within this school, I work through the appropriate channels; those being your Head of House or Prefects. But your suspicions are right to a certain degree. It was, in fact, the other way around. Your parents talked to _me._"

Harry thought he should be annoyed, but instead was touched. A gentle reminder of what having concerned parents was like. "I'm doing better, a lot better."

She struck him with a piercing glance, capturing his gaze. "From where you were three months ago, a child barely able to function, to where you are now is an incredible feat, but that does not mean the road before is any easier. You may be better, but you have not adjusted."

He broke eye contact, staring at the mortared stones, daring not say anything else lest he give too much away.

"I see that I am right." She let the silence hang for a moment, letting her words sink in. In the quiet, Harry began to realize that though she meant them another way, they still held some truth to him. He had indeed come a long way in his short yet turbulent life. That knowledge gave him some measure of pride.

"Your peers don't have hardships like you. They take for granted their minds, where as you understand how precious it can be. Now, don't think me soft for being here, that would be a mistake. And don't misinterpret this kindness for favoritism. I will just say that I myself can sympathize with your situation. It took me a great while to overcome my own handicap."

His eyes went to her leg, and she answered his unspoken question.

"This?" She gestured with her stick. "No, this was acquired later. I speak of something I had struggled with since I was a very young." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'll spare you the details, just know I understand."

Shifting his feet, Harry was uncertain what to say. He settled with, "Thank-you."

"Of course. Might I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"There lies a lonely girl who inhabits the library quite frequently. From what I can tell, she is in need of a companion."

"Oh! Oh…" Harry knew who she spoke of, and it was something that had been one of the things reflected from his own world.

"One last thing. I don't expect you to ever use your handicap as an excuse for slacking. I expect you to push yourself and exceed your own expectations."

"That's not really fair."

"Oh?" She quirked an iron gray eyebrow. "You've already made it this far, why should I not expect something similar in the future?"

Harry was left floundering, having spoken out of reaction, thinking it not fair for anyone crippled to not fall back at some point. She was right; if he had been under the circumstances she imagined him to be. "Don't worry, I won't be falling behind." _Considering I've already taken all these classes._

"That's good to hear. I think it is now time for you to be off to bed. It _is_ rather late and you have potions—" She cocked her head to the side. "You resemble your father rather strongly."

Harry smiled. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"I can imagine, but tell me, how was your first class in potions?"

Another's words came unbidden to Harry's mind.

_I hope, Potter, that I will not have to dumb down my curriculum for you._

_ Don't forget to stir the cauldron._

_ Do you think you're special, Potter? That you deserve more attention than the rest of my pupils because of your mental deficiencies?_

That was another thing that had been echoed from his world.

"It went as I expected." He refused to meet her inquiring eyes.

"I had feared as much. Let me be frank again. This is a school, where teachers teach, and students study. I expect a level of professionalism from both groups. I see I will have to remind Professor Snape of this.

Harry groaned. "I wish you wouldn't; it'll only make him worse."

"Oh? You think that little of my authority?"

"No!" He said hastily. "I just know he'll find other ways. Listen, it's really nothing I can't handle."

She smirked. "Heartening as that is to hear, I will still address the issue with him. Not just for your sake. And if he decides to get creative, inform me, please."

He only sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

She frowned. "People like Professor Snape, myself, and you have pasts that cast very large shadows; the trick is not letting that shadow fall across our future." With that, she left for the door, Harry following, both dreading and looking forward to the morrow.

True to her word, the following morning found Harry absent of the stinging remarks he had endured for the past few weeks. It was quite the relief, but the scowls he received did not bode well for his future.

Following the break in his morning classes, he found a moment to steal into the library, where, as he expected, he found a bundle of bushy hair buried deep within a dusty tome. He hesitated, afraid of how he would react, afraid of how different she might be. He summoned his courage and approached the table.

There stood for a moment, his presence undetected. He cleared his throat.

Two brown eyes stared into his, and then fell to the table where she took a deep breath. Lifting her head found two eyes narrowed. "Oh, hi, I'm sorry, is this table _yours_? How silly of me to forget." She spoke with venom, but it sounded forced.

"I—"

She spoke hastily, standing. "No, no, I _understand._ People of blood always get preference. Your lot has already explained that." She began to collect her things, but Harry did not miss the tears welling in her eyes.

"You don't understand."

She paused, taking another breath. "Did I forget some protocol?" Her voice sounded strained. "Forgive me, I'm just some muggleborn."

_She's had it worse off than I thought._ "I was just going to ask if I could join you."

Confusion clouded her features. Carefully, she peered around, asking in a low voice, "This isn't some trick?"

"No, it's not a trick. I've not really fit in too well myself and saw you alone. I just thought…" He trailed off. He had wanted to be a bit more subtle than this.

"What house are you from?"

Harry chuckled, remembering his second sorting well. _Oh my, now isn't this interesting. Considering you already know the drill, it'd better be… _"Gryffindor."

"Oh," her voice sounded small.

"You're not in Gryffindor?" he asked, trying to recall if he had seen her in the Common Room.

"No, I got sorted with the snakes."

"Really?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What, don't think I'm good enough?"

"No! I just found it weird a muggleborn would be put in Slytherin; I thought only purebloods got sent there." He narrowed his eyes. "And stop being defensive, I'm trying to be your friend."

"Sorry. It hasn't been easy." _No kidding._ "I'm Hermione by the way."

"Harry." Introductions passed, he leaned over, already knowing how to move the conversation along. "So what were you reading?" He peered at her collection of books.

"The History of Slytherin, Pureblood Ancestries, and The Pureblood Agenda."

"Uh…okay. Why? I mean, if you don't like them—"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not looking to fit in."

"I didn't say you were." His ire was beginning to rise.

She looked to him for a moment, a child where he was accustomed to seeing someone much older. She spoke, face set, eyes determined. "Know your enemy." Harry felt his eyes widen. "It's something my dad told me." She took a breath and added hastily. "I asked him for help a couple weeks ago."

_That doesn't sound like something a dentist would say._ "What exactly does your dad do?"

"He's a captain in the army."

Once again Harry was suddenly reminded that, though things looked the same on the surface, this was a completely new world. "Has he seen any action?"

"Some." Hands fidgeting, she glanced to the door. "Look, I think I'd better be going." With that she gathered her things and stood.

"I'll see you around?" Harry asked to her retreating back.

"Sure."

Harry exhaled as he watched her leave, having mixed feelings on the exchange. She was rightly paranoid, considering how the Slytherins must have been treating her, on the other hand, he had been trying to be nice. _Forget it._ He would just try talking to her later.

To pass the time until his DADA class, he read a book at random from the shelves, not truly taking in the words, only letting them slip through his mind. With the lesson drawing near, he left to enter the class, mentally readying himself for yet another shock.

"Good afternoon class!" Spoke a tall man from the head of the room, decked in robes of black and gold. Trimmed black hair sat atop his head, not a single strand out of place, while two dark eyes purveyed the youths sitting before him. "I take it everyone is ready for the practical?" His smile was warm and had a visible effect on the students. Save for Harry who could not but feel ill-at-ease with this teacher. "Remember what we discussed yesterday. Be mindful of those around you, cast slowly and speak carefully. This being your first practical in class, I don't want anything to go wrong." A small hand rose into the air. "Yes, Neville?"

"I don't think I'm ready, sir."

Professor Tom Riddle chuckled. "Neville, with that attitude you never will be. You just have to try." Heartened, the chubby boy smiled. "Alright class, pair off according to what I have on the board." He tapped the board with his wand and the names appeared in long elegant letters. The same letters that had spelled Lord Voldemort.

Despite the good nature of his teacher, Harry still held doubts. _Was this the same man who killed Moaning Myrtle? Who unleashed the basilisk? _So far his search of finding Myrtle had not been successful. It had been a distraction in the past few weeks, something to occupy his mind, and also to see if the man before him was Lord Voldemort.

Harry read his partner's first name on the board and went looking for the girl; though, he did not know her face, he hoped she knew is. Thankfully, she found him. Among the rustling of desks and robes they met in the confusion. Green eyes taking in pale green. Black hair contrasting against silvery blonde.

"You're Gabrielle?" She nodded, being several inches shorter than he.

"You're Harry?" She spoke with an accent, barely pronouncing the 'h' in his name.

He looked at her oddly for a moment, looking past her features and into his memories_._

"Is your last name Delacour?"

She nodded primly. "Yes. You remember me from the sorting? I can't say I remember you."

_No, I remember saving you from the merfolk underwater, but you were a lot younger._ "Yes," he lied; with time was it becoming easier. "You have an older sister. Fleur, I think." He was not sure, he could not recall seeing her, then again he had not been trying, then again, it was hard to miss Fleur with her aura.

Gabrielle's face became petulant and she crossed her arms. "It is always about my sister. Always!" She gave Harry a dirty look. "Just so you know, you are too little for her."

Harry hung his head and held it within his palm. He was getting tired of people misunderstanding his intentions. "I'm sorry," though he did not feel it but peace was needed if they were to make it through this lesson. "I don't like your sister, I just thought I had heard her name somewhere." She looked mollified for the moment. "And girls are gross anyway." He tried to sound childish, but it came out stupid instead.

Gabrielle flipped her hair. "Not all girls are gross."

Harry blinked, realizing that interacting with those his age was going to get tiring quickly. _Maybe I shouldn't even bother. _With Hermione it had been a little easier, but he had known Hermione well_._ Had she been any different in his own time? He recalled her saying how Ron and him acted like kids, but she had often joined their fun. _What about Ron?_ The thought sobered him quickly, bringing with it an ache. Ron is someone he had been searching for since that morning.

"You ready?" he asked, putting his mind to the task at hand. He readied his wand, one his hands were thankfully familiar with.

She nodded, biting her lip. She withdrew her own and intoned, "_Perfectus Totalus!"_ The spell struck his shoulder which went stiff for a moment. She huffed.

"I'm going to try now." He cast the spell with little effort, and the girl before him straightened like a board. She tipped over and hit the ground with a thump. Harry cringed; he had forgotten about that last part. He rushed over and cast the counter-spell, watching her stiff body relax. "Sorry, I forgot to catch you!"

"It's alright." She managed, hands checking her small frame for injury.

"You okay?"

"She is just fine, considering I charmed the floor." Both students turned to see Professor Riddle standing over them, a beaming smile on his face. "That was some very impressive wand work Harry; I'm very proud." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Who in turned felt like his skin was crawling from the contact, adding to that a sense of something cold tugging in his head.

Riddle frowned before removing his hand, his eyes carefully scrutinizing Harry. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Keep up the good work." With that he left to make his rounds with the other students.

Gabrielle was on her feet in a moment, eyes reassessing the boy before her. "How did you do that?"

"I practiced before class." That was his usual stand-by when people asked about his ability to quickly learn spells. He had tried to dumb-down his spell work in the first few days, but that had gotten annoying when he would try to do something wrong but ended up doing it right. So he was getting acclimated to all his professors thinking him an exceptional student, which actually felt like a nice change of pace. _I know how Hermione felt now._

"Could you show me?" she asked, pale green eyes eager.

"Sure." It was not like he did not have plenty of practice with teaching the spell. By the end of the class she was performing it nicely, though still a bit too slowly for his tastes. Most of the class had picked it up by then, with only a few lagging. Neville, to Harry's surprise, had been the next to successfully cast it.

After DADA came charms, which had a two hour practical lab that afternoon. Classes done for the evening the Gryffindors were released. Harry made his way to the dining table, taking his usual spot at the end. From this vantage point he began to pick out faces and names that had gone unregistered for weeks. Susan Bones, Draco Malfoy and his two goons, Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, Hermione, Fleur, who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table; the others still seemed to have ended up in the same houses. Many more tumbled through his mind.

Lost in thought, he vaguely heard a, "Gabie, where are you going?" Pulled from his thoughts, he saw the girl from earlier standing before him.

"Hello?"

She spoke in a haughty tone, head held high. "I will eat with you." Then she sat down.

They ate in silence, Harry wondering what she was doing there, while she began to fidget with her silverware.

"So what brought your family to England?" he asked, tired of the lack of conversation.

"We came over three years ago, after daddy was offered a position with your Ministry here." She leaned in closely. "They offered him a lot of money, too." She nodded to stress the point.

_So Fleur had to transfer then. _Harry recalled her disgust for the school back with the wondered if she had shared a similar reaction here.

From there, the conversation shifted from the differences between the two countries, and Harry found Gabrielle not be too much of a bore, though she seemed to put a lot of emphasis on her father's influence. All-in-all, it was not too bad a dinner and, he admitted, he did not grudge the company one bit, considering it was better than eating alone.

* * *

><p>The sun was set high in the air, mingling with the wind blowing across the pitch, cooling those that were standing in line waiting, brooms in hand, eyes in the sky watching those already trying out. Harry saw the usual suspects, only two being missing. Among the Chasers were Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, along with a short fourth year he was not sure had been present in his own time. The Keeper and captain were still the same fanatic he had known for four years; Oliver Wood.<p>

The greater shock were the Beaters, or lack of one. Only one of the twins had made the team, Fred he heard someone call him, with Lee Johnson being the other. He was not sure what this portended, but it was definitely a curiosity.

For now there were four people in the air trading a quaffle back and forth, among them the team's chasers. With a critical eye, Oliver was watching, seeing if any could outperform his 'girls.' So far, at least to Harry's eyes, there was little competition. After sometime of watching and waiting, Oliver blew his whistle and called for a halt. He gave a curt speech about not being good enough and to practice for next year.

Next up were people trying for the position of Beater, to which there was again little competition; Lee and Fred were brutal. Again the same speech and so far the roster had not changed. Before the captain had the chance to speak, someone asked if they would try for the position of Keeper. Harry thought his name was Maclaggen.

Oliver laughed. "Nope, I'm the best there is. Time to see if any of you are good enough to be our new Seeker!"

Last year's had been a seventh year, leaving the position vacant. From what people were saying it seemed he was not that great, costing the team game after game.

First up were a pair of second years who were both horrible. Annoyed, Oliver called them in only after a few minutes in the air. The next two were better, one even managing to catch the snitch, though Harry knew it to be more luck than skill. Finally, came him and the fourth year named Adam Atleson.

His presence drew a few snickers and Harry could only imagine what they thought. Some first year, with his brand new broom, and hot-shot dad. He would show them real flying!

He mounted the broom, ignoring the comments and Adam's smile. Though the fourth year's statement he heard. "Don't fall off firstie." Harry grit his teeth, feeling the broom's smooth texture. The bristles were arrayed in a narrow pattern, fanning out at the end; a technique James had asked his team's Seeker about.

"Alright," Oliver released the snitch. "Go!"

Harry was off like a rocket, hearing a 'whoa,' before the wind was in his ears. Shooting after the snitch was easy, but he wanted to give the gawking people a little show. The fourth year trailed behind him, eyes intent on the golden prize. Harry slowed and veered to the left, cutting him off. Adam compensated by going down, Harry forced his broom faster, making a tight arch and again shooting across his path.

"Don't fall off!" He cried as he swept passed him.

Adam hunkered down and went forward, trying to out-distance his rival. Harry smiled, tailing him inches from his bristles.

Adam went down, hand for the stitch, but it shot up abruptly. He cursed and adjusted only to glance back and give a startled cry. Harry smirked and waved. Adam tried a simple maneuver, trying to shake him; it did not work. He kept giving Harry nervous glances, while trying more and more unskilled aerial stunts. The two thus occupied the snitch disappeared into the pitch.

Growing bored, and thinking his opponent had learned his lesson, Harry let him be and rose into the air, eyes now open for the tiny ball. He flew a circuit around the pitch, looking for any flash of gold. Below, Adam was doing the same, though he stayed near the grass, every now and then shooting Harry a wary look.

Then Harry saw it, fluttering near the grass in an erratic flight, waiting for him to pluck it from the air. He shot down, pushing the broom as fast as it could go. At the corner of his eye he saw Adam mirroring him but he was too far away. The snitch, as if sensing its fate, made a break for the sky, Harry adjusted his dive and cornered it in seconds. His hand darted out and he grasped it easily, before turning back to the waiting crowd.

Landing brought silence. Dismounting brought Oliver, eyes glowing with obvious approval. Without preamble, he smacked Harry on the back and addressed those gathered. "Whelp, it looks like we got ourselves a Seeker!"

Then came the cheering. Harry no longer felt too bitter about their comments from the start. The team converged on him and Oliver, excitement rolling off their tongues. After the tumultuous greeting, Oliver addressed them, citing practice would be twice a week in preparation for the year's first match against Slytherin.

Joining the rest of those leaving the pitch, observers and those that tried out, Harry swore he saw a mane of bushy hair at the front. He felt the need to push his way to them, suspecting it to be Hermione, but he let the urge die.

As he returned to the castle, Gabrielle was walking next to him, merrily prattling away as was apt to do. Thankfully, Lavendar Brown was beside her, listening and keeping the conversation going, while he inserted a few words where appropriate.

She was somewhat surprising in her constant association with him. At times, she was interesting to talk to, showing at least some intelligence, but others, like when in the company of Lavender or Parvati, she was reduced to a babbling wreck, talking from what people were wearing to what they were doing.

"Aren't you listening?" she asked suddenly.

"No."

She scoffed and Lavender frowned at him. "I was asking if your dad had given you lessons."

"Yeah, over the summer. He said I was a natural." Which was the truth considering he had little formal training. Though, he had flown well in his world, his father had showed him a few things he had been doing wrong. New habits that he was still trying to learn.

Gabrielle leaned in, her eyes going to Angelina Johnson, who was walking not too far away. "I think you're the best flyer on the team, even better than her."

Harry looked her way, recalling in his time the black-skinned girl being decent. He thought he recalled Katie Bell out-flying her more often than not. "I don't think I'm that good."

Lavender scoffed. "Whatever. Coulda fooled me. Now back to what that Neville was doing in charms. Did you see how Professor Flitwick was helping him. Personally, I feel sorry for him, taking in Neville's act like everybody else."

Harry slowed down his pace, growing bored with the inane chatter. Gabrielle cast him a look, torn between Lavender and him. She looked crestfallen and rejoined her friend's conversation. Harry shrugged. _You can't force friendships, you just have to let them happen._ A lesson he had learned with his disastrous meeting with Hermione.

With those thoughts on his mind, he entered the castle, feeling buoyed by his accomplishments thus far. He was quite grateful to the Headmistress for speaking with him and helping him get his head out of his arse.

Though a quiet voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the cost of this new life.

* * *

><p><strong>an::** I've always had a problem writing a seven-year fic. Every time I tried, I would lose interest; because it was just a canon rehash. Same reason I don't generally read them. Then I sat down and decided to change the formula, just realizing that I could. Yet, I liked the setting used in Canon, so I used some elements and threw in some curve-balls, as the above can attest to. Personally, I'm quite happy with the result.

That said, I'm not too happy with this first chapter. It's probably because its a little on the stale, boring side. Nothing much happens and I have retread several cliches. Harry trying out for Quidditch, meeting the Headmaster(mistress) and going to class. The most boring aspects I believe, but I thought them necessary as setting the differences in compared to Canon. Hopefully, there were some surprises to keep people interested.

The next chapter will be more action orientated and introduce a few more twists, though one won't be new to me. A concept I carried over from a previous story. Also, sorry for the delay, RL can in the way.

As before, if you notice any errors or inconsistencies, don't hesitate to let me know. I hope everyone enjoyed it.

-byl, out.


	3. Chapter 2: Flight

**All Good Things…**

**Chapter 2: Flight**

"And the Snakes are decimating the Lions in this opening game of the season. Oliver Wood has shown some tack in reigning in his independent chasers, but they're no match for the Slytherins' beaters. Ouch!" One half of the stands groaned, while the other cheered. "Looks like Oliver's going to have to remember to catch the quaffle and dodge the bludger."

"Angelina has the ball, weaving between the brutish beaters with grace and elegance of a dancer. My personal opinion, she's the best flyer out there, but we all know you have to rely on your teammates, and that gets the girl in trouble. Oh, just like I predicted, Higgs gets the ball, passes to Flint and back to Higgs, going around a frustrated Lina. Katie's coming in, a bludger backing her up courtesy of Lee."

"Marcus hesitates, goes down, where Angelina has caught up! Damn that girl can fly! Her and Lina are passing back and forth, going around the Slytherin beaters. Jeremy comes in trying to disrupt them, but Katie flies interference…they're at the goal…and score!"

The stands erupted in a loud chorus that echoed through the pitch, while below Katie, Angelina and Lina made a quick victory pass. Their moment of glory ended with the ball back in the play. All in all, the announcer was mirroring Harry's thoughts about his own team nicely. Angelina was brilliant on a broom, complimented by Lina and Katie, but they were all ball hogs. Oliver tended to rant and rave, shouting for them to get it together, which was what Harry was used to.

Their beaters were decent, but they lacked the coordination of the twins.

The Slytherin team by comparison was in great shape. Marcus lead the chasers with ruthless efficiency, making impressive plays and easily going around Oliver, who was not quite as skilled as his counterpart in Harry's mind. Their beaters were decidedly great, making surprise strikes throughout the game, using them less has punishment and more as disruption.

In short, the Gryffindor were out-matched, which showed in the score of one-thirty to fifty. This meant it came down to him to win this. Thus far he had only caught glimpses of the snitch, before a flyer would go through it. At one point, he saw it fluttering above the Slytherin seeker, but he opted to leave it be, not wanting to draw the boy's attention to it.

"Now that was an impressive foul on Angelina's part. Never saw someone get whacked in the head by their bristles before. Maybe she was trying to put Higg's eyes out."

Harry chuckled. The announcer was interesting, making the game a joy to listen to.

As the game unfolded below, the Slytherins getting a greater lead over the Gryffindors, Harry began to sweat. He needed to catch the snitch and soon. Already the gap was over one-hundred and ten. He did not bother looking Oliver's way, already knowing his captain was shouting at him to get it. Harry ground his teeth, he wished their captain would be more concerned with stopping the ball than micro-managing them.

Then he saw it, a flutter of gold below the Gryffindor goals. He checked his opposing seeker. He was a little closer. _Should I?_ He pondered, knowing his opponent was riding a broom like his own. He glanced again to the score board and took the chance.

Like a rocket he was off, his attention going down to a single point, the golden ball fluttering innocently in the air.

"Wow! Harry is off; it looks like he's seen the snitch! Fleanor has seen it too, and uh oh, looks like Marcus is shouting some orders."

Harry cursed, already knowing Marcus' tactics. A bludger came his way; he easily dodged it, not losing an ounce of speed or distance. Until the aerial battle for the quaffle was suddenly all around him.

"Talk about a scare tactic! Higgs took the quaffle and brought it in front of Harry, bringing with him half the players. Looks like Gryffindor won't be winning…"

All Harry saw were confused shouts and fluttering robes as he dodged, veered and made his way through the mass of players vying for the quaffle. Shocked teammates moved out of his way, while a smiling Marcus tried to block him. Harry kicked him in the head as he went by, emerging from the mass of players unscathed, much to the exited cheering of those in the stands.

Unfortunately, he had lost ground to the Slytherin seeker, almost too much. Eyes grim, Harry adjusted his trajectory, aiming right for the seeker. "Watch out!" He yelled over the roaring wind, hoping his opponent heard him. He did, glancing up and hesitating, eyes wide, as Harry bore down on him at full speed.

He panicked, pulling to the side, giving Harry enough leeway to make a hard left, blocking him from the snitch. He lost most of his speed in the maneuver, but the snitch was a few meters away. He shot forward and nabbed it, a smile playing across his face.

"Gryffindor has gotten the snitch! They win two-hundred and twenty to one-hundred and eighty! Looks like I just lost my robes; that should teach me not to gamble!"

None heard the joke as those in the stands were going ballistic. This was apparently the first win for Gryffindor against Slytherin in quite a few years, an upset that Harry was very familiar with. He aimed for the ground, preparing himself for the cheers and well-wishers. It was always nice getting recognition for something you had earned, rather than something you had survived.

The weeks following the match saw most of the Gryffindors in a quiet euphoria, the excitement lending many to hope for the coveted House Cup. There was no end of well-wishers congratulating Harry for his stunning flight. There was one small downside, in the form of a quite angry Marcus Flint. Getting kicked in the head and not getting called on the foul could do that. Harry used his age when confronted by Madam Hooch, giving her the most innocent look he could muster.

"I'm real sorry, ma'am, I was just so scared when all those people were around me. I panicked. And when he was in front of me I tried to kick off, like if I were on the ground, hoping that would help."

"He's a lying little snot!" had been Marcus' eloquent response.

Madam Hooch lectured him on his language and gave Harry a slide, congratulating him on some amazing flying, adding that for a first year he did very admirably.

He enjoyed his Head of House's response the most, though.

"Mr. Potter, to say I am impressed would be an understatement. I was loath to allow a first year on the team, regardless your abilities, but you showed admirable courage in such a precarious circumstance."

"Thank-you, ma'am."

"Not at all, you've earned the praise. Oh, and a message from the Headmistress. She says now she'll expect even more from you."

To which Harry only smiled. All-in-all, the past few weeks had been grand, save for the hangers-on, following him wherever he went. Neville, Dean, and Seamus had taken to accompanying him at meals, talking non-stop about ideas they had to help the team. Harry tried to be civil, he really did, but most times he would finish his meal in a rush and excuse himself. His relation with Gabrielle had cooled because she spent most the time singing his praises.

It was one thing for people to say in passing he did a great job, another for someone to keep going on about it.

His classes were going well, both easy and boring most of the time. He received high marks for his quick understanding, Riddle in particular rewarding him with house points every time he got a spell right. When queried about his aptitude, he confessed to being a hard studier.

In his spare time he went flying around the pitch, or idly reading a few books borrowed from the library, history books so he could brush up on his knowledge of this world. There were not too many differences that he could see, at least considering he really had not paid too much attention in his history class. Instead of being taught by a ghost, the class here was taught by a Professor O'Leary.

Another side project of his was the search of Moaning Myrtle. The girls' second story bathroom was frequented by students, but it did possess a sink with the shape of a snake, so he assumed the entrance was still there. He contemplated going down, but he would first need the sorting hat and Gryffindor's Sword. That or a few dozen roosters.

Right now, with December right around the corner, found him wondering a hallway, looking for a ghost. Nearly-Headless Nick had recommended he seek out a young ghost that hid in this part of the castle. Apparently, she shied away from most contact. This was the best lead he had in over a month.

Walking the corridor, eyes open for anything resembling translucency, he heard an odd rhyme coming to his ears.

"Mudblood, mudblood, shine my shoes.

Mud-blood, mudblood, pay your dues.

If you don't, you can't stay.

You don't belong here anyway."

Harry followed the song. He found it coming from a classroom across from one of the castle's many moving paintings. Its occupant was missing. Harry peered inside and went cold at the scene before him.

There standing was a tall youth, a fifth year by the looks, with younger years all around. He had long black hair with blue eyes dancing with merriment. In one hand, held high, was a wand, and he was spinning it around, just out of reach of a young girl possessed of brown hair. Two of the other Slytherins, fourth years, who stood flanking their leader, snickered. Harry did not recognize them, but he did the three first years, holding Hermione back. Malfoy and his two goons.

"Come now mudblood, you thought you could fit in by reciting a few genealogies? That maybe we would be impressed because you thought you knew us? Are we impressed everyone?" There was a resound 'no'. "There, you see, no one is impressed."

Hermione's brown eyes blazed as she struggled against who held her. "I didn't recite them to show you anything. I did it show that anyone can learn your stupid histories." Her voice started off small, but gained heat as she went.

The leader's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What would you say if I broke your wand?"

She looked at him confused for a moment before smiling. She spoke sweetly. "Go ahead."

Puzzled, the tall teen took her wand and brought it between his hands, straining. Harry felt the urge to intervene then, stopping only when he saw the teen's confused look. Curious, he waited a second more due to Hermione's laughter.

"What's so funny?" demanded the teen.

Her response was in the form of a taunting song. "A mudblood knows more about wands than you."

The leader's blues turned cold, and Harry decided to interrupt, pulling his wand out. "Hello."

Everyone froze, turning to him. The tall teen one spoke. "This doesn't concern you Gryffindor, just walk away."

"What doesn't concern me?" Harry asked, feigning innocence. "I just heard some people talking. Oh, hi, Hermione." He waved.

Her face was passive, her eyes going from him back to her tormentor.

The one in charge spoke, eyeing Harry's wand. "You're that seeker, aren't you? Harry?"

He nodded. "Who are you?"

"Orion," he spoke cautiously. "You know her?"

"Yep, she helped me in one of my classes. What's going on here? A game? I love wand games!" He tried to sound eager as he drew closer to Orion.

Hermione groaned. "No, they're trying to break my wand."

Harry turned to her, then to Orion. "Isn't that against the rules?"

"Obviously!" she cried, sounding exasperated.

Orion spoke next. "What do you think about mudbloods, Harry?"

"I think they're weaker than real wizards. I'm a half-blood myself." He stepped closer, eyeing the wand held aloft with curious eyes.

Orion smiled wide. "Then would you like to join us for a game? It's called Keep Away. We keep the mudblood away from magic." His smile turned sinister.

Harry glanced to Hermione, who was now pale and very much pissed. "Sure! Can I go first?"

Orion laughed. "Okay. The game is you try to break her wand."

Harry nodded sagely, putting his hand out, asking for the focus. Orion seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Isn't your mother a muggleborn?"

Harry smiled. "Yep."

Orion's eyes lit up and he stepped back, but not before Harry's snatched his friend's wand from his hand. Orion brought his own up, an incantation on his lips, but Harry was faster, shooting off the disarming spell with ease. Orion's wand went flying to the back of room, clattering on stone.

No one moved. Then two fourth years brought their own to bear, but Harry banished one into the other, making them collapse in a heap of limbs. Not taking his eyes off Orion, he spoke to Malfoy behind him. "Do yourself a favor and lower your wand."

"As if I—" Malfoy began, but a gruff voice interceded him.

"Do it, Draco." Harry failed in keeping the surprise from his face. That sounded like one of Malfoy's stooges.

Harry smiled to Orion, and let the point of his wand glow an eerie red. "I think we'll be leaving."

Then they heard the clack of wood against stone coming from the entrance of the classroom. They all turned to see the Headmistress, cold blue eyes collecting their attention. She began to sing. "Mudblood, mudblood, shine my shoes.

Mud-blood, mudblood, pay your dues.

If you don't, you can't stay.

You don't belong here anyway." With each verse, Orion wilted more and more, while Hermione held nothing but relief plastered on her face.

"I don't think I have to tell you how much I despise that song. A song that many used to sing to my mother. Sad it hasn't died out." Her eyes pierced one of Malfoy's goons. "I believe now is a good time to let her go." They did. "Mr. Potter, return her wand." He did. "Now run along Mrs. Granger, these boys will _never_ bother you again." Six Slytherin faces fell, eyes downcast upon the ground. Without any prompting or show from the Headmistress, Orion's wand floated through the air to land in his open palm.

Harry made to move, but her eyes stopped him. "There is to be no dueling within these halls. Detention with Hagrid next Monday."

"What?"

She raised an eyebrow. "There are rules to follow. If there is trouble, you get help from a prefect or a teacher. Remember that."

Harry did not bother responding, knowing it would not be too kind. Instead, he left, casting a glare her way. He looked up to see the occupant of the painting had returned. Walking away, he heard the Headmistress address the students. "Two-hundred and fifty points from Slytherin, and I'm only getting started."

There were a few foul words floating through Harry's mind. _I guess this is what everyone was talking about._ The punishment chafed, especially since not that long ago she had given him praise. Any other teacher would have applauded him for his heroism, but her words to him at the beginning of the term returned.

_ Now, don't think me soft for being here, that would be a mistake. And don't misinterpret this kindness for favoritism._

He had in fact taken her presence there for granted, ignoring the warning completely. That would not be a mistake he would repeat. Lost in the thundercloud of his own thoughts, he almost missed Hermione waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

"I wanted to thank-you."

"No problem, you didn't deserve that."

She looked conflicted. "In a way, I did." Harry gave her an incredulous stare. "I researched all their histories, the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Vickleson's…you get the picture. I rubbed in it their faces. I wanted to show them that anybody could memorize a few hundred names."

_I didn't know purebloods prided themselves in knowing their past._ Harry shrugged. "They're all inbred anyway."

She gave him an odd look. "You're a Potter, right?"

"Yeah, but my mum's a muggleborn. So it evens out."

She chuckled, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Still, thank-you. That was some pretty neat wand work, too."

_At least someone thinks so._ "The Headmistress didn't think so. She gave me detention for it. We're not supposed to duel in the castle."

"That's rubbish! If not for you they could have done something awful."

Harry was glad to see someone outraged for his sake. "Yeah, breaking your wand would—"

"Actually, they wouldn't have been able to."

"Why not?"

Hermione assumed a very familiar tone, one that caused Harry to smile. "Because wands are enchanted against such things. It would be pretty stupid for someone to sit on a wand and break it, considering they're not that easy to repair."

"Makes sense."

Their footsteps brought them to the Great Room, where several students were catching a quick bite between lessons.

"Join me for some late lunch?"

She bit her lip. "Are we supposed to sit with other houses?"

"Don't know." He purveyed the Great Hall, seeing some from the other houses sitting at different tables, mostly the older years. "I don't think it matters."

"Okay, I am pretty hungry."

They chose to sit at the Ravenclaw table, much to the amused smiles of a few seventh years. No doubt they thought the first years were being rebellious and adventurous.

Throughout the meal they talked idly of their classes, Harry impressed with how well she was doing, the same being said for him from her. He also asked if that had been her watching him tryout for the Gryffindor team. She confirmed his suspicion. She had been curious if they would let a first year join the team, she added hastily had been her only reason for showing.

Lunch done, they parted ways with a promise to again dine together.

* * *

><p>The forest loomed before him, stirring haunted memories from under its boughs. He looked into the choking mists, wondering if they would take the shape of the many dangers that lurked in his past.<p>

"Whelp, it looks like a good day to enter."

Harry cast a side-long glance to the half-giant next him, comparing this to the man he knew. "Isn't it called the Forbidden Forest for a reason?"

"Just to keep pryin' students out o' course. It's not really that bad."

_Says the man who's the size of a mountain._ Still, Harry could not really complain, entering a forest to help Hagrid track some rare beast was better than deweeding his garden without a wand; those plants looked like they had teeth on them.

Hagrid entered the forest, Harry behind him with his wand at the ready. For all his talk of the forest not being very dangerous, the half-giant still had a giant crossbow strapped to his back, as well as his pink umbrella swinging from his hip. Trailing behind them was Hagrid's faithful companion Fang. Harry had never seen him act in any manner threatening, but having the large dog near was a comfort.

"Still say its rubbish you gettin' a detention and all. Ya practically saved that lass' life!" Harry could not help but nod his head in agreement. "Headmistress, bless her soul, wanted me to have ya go through my garden. 'A nice lesson for him." Hagrid spit on the ground. Then hastily added, "Mind ya, she's still a great woman, but she's too strict on the rules sometimes. Least, that's what I say."

"I couldn't have said it better."

Hagrid laughed as the two walked over exposed roots and crumbling hills, the mist parting as they trekked deeper. "There used to be a tribe o' giants in here, till the Ministry had enough of their ways and banished 'em to some island. Poor sods just couldn't behave."

"What about rumors of Acromantulas being in here?" Harry asked innocently, eyeing Hagrid's umbrella.

Hagrid gave him a startled look. "Who told ya that?"

Harry sighed, having his fears confirmed. "I just heard it somewhere. Can't remember."

"Oh. Well, you shouldn't believe everythin' ya hear."

Hagrid was quiet for a time after that, casting his eyes to the woods. He paused and motioned to fang. "Get 'em," Hagrid directed Fang forward, who obliged, nose to the ground, sniffing.

Harry watched the dog approach a row of bushes that parted, letting him be swallowed by leaf and mist. _I wonder if he's magical?_

The silence stretched and Hagrid waited, leaning against a thin tree, thin by comparison at least. The baying of a dog broke the moment, following by rustling in the brushes. Suddenly, a stag broke through, save its antlers gleamed with steel instead of bone.

"Good goin', Fang!" Hagrid hollered before stepping in front of the frightened creature and wrestling it to the ground. The almost-deer writhed and seemed to possess boundless amounts of strength, but in the end Hagrid subdued it, sitting on it and taking out a piece of gold chain.

With deft motions he had it tied around the creature's neck. There is shimmered before fading from sight. Satisfied, the half-giant stood, letting the animal gain its feet. With a swift strike to its rump, the creature fled into the forest.

"What was that?"

"Ah harrir. Pretty rare in Britain, that's why we've been trackin' 'em. So far we've got twenty or so in here. Not bad for a beast that kills other males when they fight." Hagrid let loose a boisterous laugh.

From there they went deeper into the forest, encountering another harrir, though that one was already tagged, and two beasts the size of a dog whose fur coats constantly shifted colors. Next on the agenda was tracking a herd of kittles.

Harry leaned against a tree, bored, watching the leaves shudder with the wind as Hagrid rifled through a mound of shit. "I wanna see what the kittles have been eatin'." Harry let his thoughts wonder to the game he had listened to on the WWN in the Common Room last week. He had avidly listened to the announcer dictate the match, and each time his father's name was called, he could not help but smile.

A crow alighted onto one of the branches above, its beady eyes fixed upon Harry, interrupting his wandering thoughts. He assumed it was somehow magical, like most things in this forest seemed to be. It cawed at him before taking wing.

"Whelp, looks like the kittles haven't been eatin' right. We got to catch one."

"How big are they?"

"Oh, not too big."

That filled Harry with dread.

"We got to be careful around here now. We're gettin' in centaur land, and they don't like wizards much. They don't mind me or the headmistress, but ya got a wand, so just be careful."

He would bare that in mind, but he thought they would give him some slack, considering his age. As they walked, Hagrid making ridiculous clucking noises, Harry again heard the cawing of a bird. He looked up to see not one, but near a dozen crows eyeing him with interest. "Hagrid, what's with the crows?"

"Crows?" He looked up and frowned. "Nothin' to worry over. Just don't drop ya wand."

Harry tightened his grip.

Then they heard it, the steady rhythm of hooves upon dirt. Harry sighed and Hagrid tensed. "Now don't say nothin', and put ya wand away."

Harry did as he was bid, waiting for the centaurs to come.

A group, twelve strong, came thundering over a hill comprised of a fallen tree, expertly making their way through the uneven terrain. Above Harry heard the slight flutter of wings, noting dozens of more crows had perched in the branches, all watching him. He began to grow uneasy.

The herd of centaurs pulled up short in front of Hagrid. They ranged in color from rustic red to pale white, with the one looking to be a mixture of red and gray. Harry thought he looked old from the way he stooped. A large one with a brutish face walked forward to address Hagrid. "You are trespassing again, giant."

Hagrid waved a hand at him. "Get the splinters out ya hooves I'm just checkin' the kittles."

The centaur snorted before rounding on Harry. "You brought a magic-bearing. His kind is not welcome."

"Pish posh, Ivan. He's alright, just thought I'd show him the forest."

Ivan narrowed his eyes and went to speak, but an aged voice silenced him. "You have postured enough, it is obvious they will not be cowed. Hello Hagrid, it's been a long time."

"Ah, Magorian!" Hagrid took two steps forward and embraced the elder centaur, much to the indignation of the herd. "What brings ya out this far? Never thought you'd leave the burrow at your age."

The elder chuckled, but his face drooped into sadness. "Ah my friend, if only we could meet under better circumstances. You see, I've come here because of a vision. A vision of a dark future."

"Really? For the centaurs?"

He shook his head. "No, for all of us."

"Er—"

Ivan stepped forward. "We escorted him here so he could warn you, giant. This threat looms greater than any you could imagine."

Harry listened with interest. He heard a soft caw from above, looking up he gawked at the hundreds of crows all staring downward, though this time, their black eyes were directed at the elder centaur. Harry withdrew his wand.

The elder sighed, as well looking back at the crows. "Ivan, I misled you this morning." His voice sounded tired. A few of the other centaurs were following his gaze and growing confused.

"What?" He cast a look to Hagrid and Harry. "This is not the time—"

"There is no more time. You see, the smoke showed more than a dark future, it showed me no longer in that future."

Startled exclamations came from the gathered herd, some protesting to return to the burrow. Magorian quieted them with a raised hand. "No, it is better I die out here, where there is no risk to the younglings."

"No! Who—" Two red eyes took in Hagrid. "You!"

"Ivan, stop!" The words barely restrained the beast. "They are not the assassin that has been sent. They are." He pointed to the branches above where the mingled crows all cawed at once, a symphony promising death. They took flight, letting loose a shower of pine needles.

The centaurs reacted instantly, bows and arrows coming to hand, nocked and firing at the crows that took flight. Several went down, pierced, their bodies exploding in a shower of black ink. Harry joined them, sending cutting curses skyward. Hagrid yelled something, while firing as well, and Fang ran around barking madly.

Yet it seemed for every crow shot down, more would join the fray, until Harry looked down to see a puddle of ink become another crow and take to the air. That is when he stopped and took a step back, wondering if now was a good time to run.

The crows began circling, growing tighter and tighter in formation, ignoring all that was sent their where.

Closer and closer the crows flew. In that mass of spinning feathers flashes of reflected steel were glimpsed, along with dark fabric fluttering in the wind. Soon the crows began to disappear, gradually giving way to a figure wreathed in black, hooded and floating, while gripped in two blackened hands was a scythe taller than itself.

The arrows stopped and all stood frozen at the unveiled creature standing as tall as Hagrid. Harry felt something cold shift in his head, calling out to the creature. He pushed the sensation away, instead trying his best to calm his racing heart.

Magorian stepped forward, head held high, eyes never leaving his assassin. The creature pointed to him and nodded.

"Reaper," he called, "I have a request; that you let those around me flee unmolested." The creature slowly shook its cowled face. "Why? I give myself freely to you!"

A deep laugh came from under the robe, and the weapon was raised high, catching the light of the sun. It moved then, flowing forward, its massive weapon ready to reap the soul standing in sacrifice before it. Magorian turned to his herd. "This is why I wanted to come alone. Now run!"

Harry did not think they would listen; he himself was not listening, instead throwing a stunner at the Reaper. His magic caught on its black robes before fizzling.

Ivan gave a terrible shout as the blade came down, only to be stopped at the last moment by Hagrid and his crossbow.

"You fool giant! Nothing can stop my death, but you can still live!"

Hagrid ignored him, struggling against the creature's strike, his crossbow set against its metal scythe. The Reaper shifted its position, trying and bring the blade down on the waiting elder. With a sudden cry, face burning red, Hagrid managed to throw off the creature.

"Run ya stupid galloot!" he shouted to the elder as he loaded his crossbow and quickly fired, his projectile joining a dozen others as they rained on the Reaper, having no effect.

"This is useless! None here can stand before it! Run! Run!" Ranted Magorian, trying to maneuver himself away from Hagrid. If he hoped to draw the creature's attention away from the herd, he was mistaken. The Reaper turned to the gathered centaurs and raised its blade high, many gathered were already learning of the futility of their attacks, and quickly moved to dodge. Harry fired a disarming spell, but it had the same effect as his stunner. He fired more spells, anything that came to mind, but they fell away from the robe like leaves from a tree.

The Reaper swung, but Hagrid was once more there, throwing his crossbow aside and physically trying to grab the scythe. His grip slipped through it, as if he had been trying to grab smoke. He fell, the momentum carrying him forward and the herd scattered, but not before one was cut in half like a paper doll.

Blood and guts poured out. There were cries of rage, while Harry felt like sicking up.

"Ya bleedin' monster." Hagrid shouted, going for his cross bow. The creature quickly lashed out with its scythe, slicing Hagrid across his back, opening him up from hip to shoulder. He howled in the forest, as black smoke rising from the wound. Harry found himself shooting desperately, but nothing sent at the monster could stop it. It swung again, but the Elder galloped forward and took the blow for Hagrid, his upper half falling away, while his lower fumbled across the leaf-strewn ground.

Cries of rage filled the air as centaurs streamed forward, renewed attacks streaming from their bows, but Harry knew it the futility of it.

Harry looked to the sky and cast a spell, hoping someone would see his message in red. In the mean time, he had to get out of there. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" The giant was heaved off the ground and towards Harry, who went to him examining the vicious strike. Blood was pouring from it and Hagrid was struggling, muttering something.

He cast a look back, watching the creature's scythe rise and fall among the enraged beasts, reaping a harvest of blood and guts.

Harry could take no more, turning his head and vomiting as his legs carried him forward, Hagrid's great weight came with him. Wiping his mouth he called to Fang, cursing at the dog to follow him. The dog's barks becoming distant told him it had not listened.

Through the underbrush and between the trees Harry raced, every now and then checking on the half-giant, worry worming its way through his guts. He hoped all the blood Hagrid was losing was not as much as it looked, or maybe Hagrid held a lot more than most people. He kept making weak excuses in his head, keeping the possibility of death at bay.

He was thankful enough to remember from which direction lay the castle, he just hoped he could reach it in time. He prayed the Reaper would leave, having its mission accomplished. He hoped the half-giant would survive.

His head grew cold and when glanced back, he nearly cried. There, ghosting through the air, passing through both tree and shrub was the Reaper, rapidly closing the distance.

Harry sent Hagrid to nestle between two trees, while Harry turned to face the demon. Regular magic could not phase it, but what about something more potent? Summoning within him every happy feeling he could, Harry pointed his wand and shouted. "_Expecto Patronum!"_

His stag familiar shot forward, an animal comprised of silver mist. The antlers caught onto the creature's robes, ripping them as it sought to go over the patronus. Droplets of ink fell to the ground from the wound, turning to a black smoke in seconds. The Reaper aimed for Harry, but the stag galloped forward, keeping itself between Harry and the Reaper.

A scream pierced the night from it under its shadowed hood, out frustration or glee, Harry could not tell. He was glad to have found something to fend it off. Harry backed himself up next to Hagrid, who was shifting on the ground. "Don't move."

Only babbling was Hagrid's response.

_I can't maintain my patronus all day. We'll have to run for it, and hope it can keep that thing back._ He recast the levitation charm and made a dash for it, directing his stag to keep the Reaper from him.

Through the twisting paths of the forest he flew, the Reaper always at the corner of his eye, steel flashing, the stag a second behind, antlers tearing into darkness. Harry cursed his tiny feet, wishing he was older.

Then he saw it, the promise of an empty field. He dashed forward while the Reaper made way to block him. It screamed when the patronus' antlers nearly took off its arm. Harry glanced looking to Hagrid, still dripping blood. He was far too pale and no longer moving. Harry pushed himself even faster, not caring how much his legs were screaming.

_Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be…_ He chanted, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he broke through the forest mists and into the sweet sunshine. He half-hoped the creature would not follow him out. Its scream piercing the air dashed that thought. The Reaper came at him high and from the left, but the stag leaped over Harry and tousled with the demon. It landed, still racing beside Harry as the castle loomed closer.

Salvation lay ahead of him in the form of a rapidly walk old woman with a half-dozen professor's and older students fanned out behind her. They had gotten his message written in the sky. Her eyes were cold thunderstorms as she stopped mid-stride and struck the ground with her cane. Those behind her stopped and gawked. Harry screamed at them to do something, anything!

The air sparked ahead, birthing a dragon of pure writhing flame. It roared and flew over Harry, who looked back to see it tackle the Reaper, fire pouring from its mouth into the cowled hood. The demon screamed as smoke poured from its robes, yet the scythe came down and sliced through the dragon, turning it to smoke. Harry briefly saw another light out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it, finally finding safety behind the Headmistress. He recognized the school's healer.

"Madam Pompfrey, it's Hagrid. His back!" He panted and with his wand directed his burden to bear before the healer. "He's lost a lot of blood. Help me!"

Already her wand was tracing the gash, healing it, only to gasp when it broke open again. She closed her eyes and began to mummer. White light poured from her wand like a liquid, filling the wound. "Come along," she said crisply.

Harry cast a look back to see a white swan battling the reaper, while two other silvery animals were leaping and striking. Then a spear of fire went forth, hitting the thing in the face, where it screamed in agony.

"Come along!" Pompfrey insisted, grabbing him by his robes and dragging him away from the battle. Harry realized then that his own patronus had already dissipated. As he was led away, he watched the closing scene of the battle as five silvery animals converged on the creature, forcing it to the ground, while a sword of shining light stabbed it repeatedly. The last he saw of it was an explosion of dark ink coating the ground, before a dozen crows took flight.

* * *

><p>He was lying on a soft bed, agitated; no one had said anything about Hagrid's chances. The two had been separated while she rushed him to St. Mungo's. <em>Please, be alright Hagrid. Please.<em> His head fell back onto the pillow, realizing he barely knew this half-giant, but that did not change the way he felt.

There was a potion laying on the stand next him, levitated there by Madam Pompfrey. "If you get too agitated, drink it."

He was not that agitated, he had been in similar circumstances in the past. He felt like pacing, but his aching legs belayed that idea. He just wanted to do something else besides sit in the bed! That's when he starting eyeing the potion, wondering if it were a sleeping draught or a calming one. It did not matter, he downed it and was greeted by oblivion.

Heaviness clung to him as he struggled to rise. Firm hands pressed him back down, and he opened his eyes to see several blurry shapes standing over him. He blinked and everything came rushing back. "Hagrid!"

"Calm down, he's fine. Everything is okay, Mr. Potter." The healer's soothing words brought him peace of mind, while someone handed him his glasses.

Clarity greeted him in the form of a woman with dazzling red hair who pounced. He struggled for breath as she rocked him, mumbling something into his ears. "Mum, I can't—"

She released him, muttering her apologies, while she wiped a few stray tears from her face. She smiled. "I'm just glad you're alive."

"Me too." Harry looked to the side. "Hey, dad."

James reached over and gripped his shoulder. "I heard you had an adventure."

"Something like that." His voice was hollow as he recalled the carnage the Reaper had set upon the centaurs.

"And speaking of adventures, I do believe now is the time for answers."

Harry looked passed his parents to see the Headmistress standing by a large window, the light haloing her blue robes. Harry sighed, regretting his petty feelings for her over a stupid detention. "Thank-you. You saved me."

She inclined her head. "Your safety is my duty. But I am not the only one you should be thanking; apparently there was a hidden ally in the forest."

_Hidden…? My patronus! _He tensed, then calmed, realizing she thought it from someone else. "Is that who cast that deer? What was it? I've never seen that kind of magic before."

"It is called a patronus, and it is NEWT level magic at the minimum. Not many wizards are capable of producing them. The explanation, if you please?"

With that, he launched into his tale, hastily skimming over the part where Hagrid changed his punishment—she frowned rather severely at that. He went into vague detail about what Magorian had said, warning of some darkness to come, he himself was wondering about the ill omen. _Did it mean Voldemort was still out there in this time?_

He glossed over the centaurs being butchered, modifying the tale by saying the stag burst onto the scene to help him. He was careful to hedge the truth, fully aware the Headmistress could tell a lie. She looked satisfied with his final account.

"Quite the harrowing tale, young man. Inspiring even." There was a hint of a smile on her face, it vanished like smoke in the next instant. "I must send a few owls and settle a rampaging herd of centaurs. Also, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, it would seem a rather impetuous prefect decided to leak this small tale to the press. You may wish to release a statement, _heavily edited,_ of what happened to the centaurs."

"Why?" James asked carefully.

"Because they just lost their oldest herd member, a man respected by centaurs the world around because of his prowess with the future. The last thing their nation needs in this time of grieving is nosy reporters."

James nodded, Lily as well. And Harry felt for them, as he kept thinking back to the elder. How he had had bravely walked to that place knowing he was to die. Harry did not know if he would have that kind of courage.

His parents stayed the rest of the afternoon, hearing him talk about his stay. He had been writing them weekly with updates in his classes and various exploits on the Quidditch pitch. His most recent adventure against the Slytherins he was going to leave out, but his mother kept asking why he had received the detention.

"Well that's pretty bloody unfair." James said, much to Harry's pleasure.

He turned to his mother, expecting a lecture of following the rules. "I'm proud of you standing up for that poor girl." She sighed. "Dumbledore has always been too strict at times, but it kept the peace." She gave James a knowing grin.

James spoke. "Hey, did you say that leader's name was Orion? A fifth year?" Harry nodded. "Did you catch his last name? No?" He turned to Lily. "I'm thinking that might be Black's son. He'd be about the same age."

"Sirius'? Yeah, he would be in fifth year now."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Sirius Black was alive and he had a family. _And his son is an arse._ "Were you and Sirius close?" Harry ventured.

A conflicted expression took over his father's features. "For a while we were. Then…"

Lily rolled her eyes. "He, Severus, and Sirius, used to be best mates for years." Lily leaned in closer. "But you're father was the most handsome."

"Got that right!"

Harry laughed. "So what happened?"

James shrugged. "I got my head outta my arse and stopped listening to their pureblood crap."

"That and poor Lupin."

James cringed and Harry's stomach sank. "Lupin?"

"Yeah, he was one of my mates, but he was a werewolf. I figured it out, but didn't tell anyone. They were taking precautions and I figured the Headmistress had everything under control. So Snape and Sirius got wind of it, and freed him one night. Bastards almost died, I should have let them."

"No, you did the right thing."

"Well, long story short that was when I started seeing some the stunts they were pulling were dangerous. Not funny, but people could get hurt. Did get hurt a few times."

"Didn't the Headmistress catch you?"

James shifted his eyes. "We were pretty good about not being caught. Let's just leave it at that."

Harry filed that tidbit away for later.

Lily finished the tale. "So with their pranks getting worse, James realizing I was pretty, and that not all muggleborns were bad—" James looked ready to object, "don't argue this point, we both know you won't win—he pulled his head out of his arse and became a normal human being. Unlike the other two."

The family talked for a few more minutes, discussing possible plans for a family vacation over the summer, a premise that had Harry very excited. They bid him good-bye and to try and stay out of any more trouble. "I'll try, but it usually finds me."

Lily sighed and James laughed. "Sounds like me."

"Oh hush you."

The light atmosphere seemed to drain away suddenly, both his parents giving him sobering looks. James spoke. "All joking aside, please be careful, we just got you back."

They left then, his father's words weighing heavily about his guilty mind.

Sentenced to the bed until tomorrow, and wanting a distraction from his worried parents, he began to pick apart what they had revealed. It seemed Sirius was a bigot, if going by his son was any indication. The thought hurt, but he rationalized it was something he would have to get over. Hopefully, he would not meet the man anytime soon. Also, it seemed that his father had once possessed an invisibility cloak, something Harry would be searching for when he got the chance.

As the day waned, he had a few more visitors, among them Neville, Dean, and Seamus. Next came Gabrielle with her asinine friends Lavender and Parvarti. They did not stay long as Harry had suddenly come down with a headache.

Someone he did look forward to was Hermione, who came bearing a plate full of sweets. "I didn't know which was your favorite, so I grabbed as many as I could."

Harry accepted the plate and showed his appreciation by digging in. Hermione never pressed him for what happened, but he told her anyway. Again he kept the patronus' origin to himself.

"That's horrible."

"What?"

"You seeing all that and…" She shuddered. "Are you sure you're alright? You don't want me to call Madam Poopfry?"

Harry crossed his arms. "I'm a lot tougher than I look."

She frowned. "You're telling me none of it bothered you?"

"Well, yeah it did, but—"

"But nothing! You're only eleven, you don't have to pretend to be a tough guy. Boys!"

_No, I'm not eleven, and age has nothing to do with what you can cope with._ He would know, having killed a wizard by eleven and slayed a basilisk by twelve. He changed the subject to transfiguration, asking if she had gotten her homework done yet. He feigned needing a few pointers. She looked skeptical, but sighed and brought out her essay.

As she lectured Harry's mind went the dark creature he had fled, wondering again what twisted magic could create it, create something invulnerable to spells and untouchable. He recalled seeing those few crows fly into the air, thinking the creature far from dead.

* * *

><p><strong>AN::** The Reaper isn't new to me, having used in a prior story, but I liked it, since that other story was going nowhere. People will probably notice the pacing it increased in this first year. This is intentional, since I don't want to write thousands of words about kids going to school. I'll lessen the pace as the years go by, but I'm hoping to balance things with longer scenes in between the moments of explaining. I'm also hoping to use Quidditch as a way of tying most of the first year together. Kind of boring I realize, having read too many, but I'm going to try and make them interesting at least. The reason for the focus will be clear by the last match.

That said, I like the prose of this chapter, but it's still harried. Maybe too much of an info dump in some cases I think. Either way, I hope some enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

-byl, out.


	4. Chapter 3: Lessons

**All Good Things…**

**Chapter 3: Lessons**

The snow was coming down thick, blanketing the world in silence. It seemed the castle was filled with drafts, currents swirling through the halls, catching students with a sneeze or a cough. Most huddled beneath cloaks, while a few complained to the teachers.

The Headmistress addressed the problem at dinner. "We are looking into the failure of the castle's warming magic. For now, I suggest everyone learn the warming charm and keep the fire roaring in your dormitories. Thank-you."

Harry was walking to charms class the following day, his cloak nice and toasty. Him, and many of the other older students, took turns teaching the younger years how to perform the charm. Those like Seamus, unable to learn, had their housemates refreshing the charm throughout the day. Gabrielle was walking beside him, thankfully absent were her usual companions. Harry could honestly say that he was passed his limits when it came to them.

"Thank-you for teaching me the charm. I am still not used to these frigid winters." Harry looked to her small frame. _She must have been freezing._ His teaching her the charm was no a big deal, she had been coming to him regularly of late asking to be taught more advance spells. He showed her a few spells that they had not gotten to yet in transfiguration, and a few basic charms from second year. It took her a second to catch-on, but she was an eager learner.

"I cannot wait to go home to the Rhine and enjoy sunny days." She seemed to be talking to fill the cold silence.

Harry frowned. "I thought your dad worked in England?"

"Oh, oui, he does. But he sends my sister and I to France in the winter; we both miss it." She was sad a moment. "He visits when he can, but he stays busy."

They entered charms class where Fitwick was congratulating everyone on casting the warming charm on their own. He turned to Harry and Gabrielle one eyebrow quirked.

Harry answered his unspoken question. "Sorry we're late, I was teaching Gabrielle the warming charm."

Flitwick beamed. "Of course, of course! Forgiven then. Come here young lady and let me take a look."

Flitwick was waving his wand over her, nodding here and there. She giggled as it passed over her nose. "Fine workmanship, a little rough around the edges, though. Work on your concentration a bit; a stiff wind might be able to get through. Your turn, Mr. Potter."

Harry took his place and watched as he felt something fall over his body; he could see why Gabrielle giggled.

"Nothing less than what I expected from my top student. Good job, comparable to a few of the older years even. Now have a seat, we're going to learn a derivative of the warming charm." His eyes lit-up. "The freezing charm!"

The last month of school went by in similar fashion, far from the excitement he had in the beginning with Quidditch, duels, and demons. Though the Quidditch fever was picking up again as the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff game approached. Harry looked into it with some interesting, taking notes on the two seekers. He was very familiar with Cedric Diggory. He seemed to be the same boy as the one that had died in his past. It took Harry a few of days seeing him to finally push back the pallid face that sprang from his memories.

The other seeker was an unknown. A sixth year who had been Cho's predecessor. Rumor had it he was fairly good on a broom.

He had his chance to see the week before school let out, as the teams gathered to fight. Harry did not envy them in the least, being out in this frigid weather. He was happily tucked in his cloak, with Hermione on one side, trying to read of all things, and Gabrielle on his other, gossiping of all things. Lavender was faithfully by her side.

The wind howled and the game proceeded, with the Ravenclaw seeker doing a decent job of staying on his broom, but Cedric was the better flyer. The game stretched with the announcer providing the usual commentary.

"Pulling hair's not a foul, but Hooch is eyeing Medley. She'd better watch out. Ouch! Talk about a thick head, it looks like that beater just maybe out of the game…"

In the end, with Harry cheering alongside everyone else, it had been a very close game until Cedric managed to grab the snitch.

With that the stands emptied, the Hufflepuffs racing to greet their current hero, while the others made their way to the castle. "You could at least _try_ and watch them." Harry spoke to Hermione, thankfully leaving Gabrielle and her friend behind.

Hermione raised her nose. "You said I needed to get out more. I did."

He frowned; this was not what he had mind. "Are the Slytherins still giving you trouble?" This was a topic he had avoided for a time, assuming things had gone better for her as she had been in a better mood. In the past few weeks that had gone down.

She sighed, stowing her book. "No, well…" She narrowed her eyes. "It's been better, mostly. Orion ignores me, but Malfoy's being a git, always sending Crabbe and Goyle after me. We've dueled a few times."

"Go to the Headmistress!"

"No, I have to do this on my own." Hermione's was reply was fierce.

"That's stupid. They'll just keep…"

Her glare silenced him. He sighed as she spoke. "It's not like that. In Slytherin you handle your own problems."

Harry crossed his arms. "That's still stupid, but if that's what you want." His eyes wandered across the low ceiling as they walked. "Did you hold your own against them?"

She scoffed. "Against Crabbe, yes, _he's_ an ox. Goyle, no."

Harry narrowed his eyes, tempted to show the two how to use a wand. Then a better idea replaced it. "Would you like some help?"

"With what?"

"I could show you a few spells next term that would give you an edge." He smiled, but it faltered at seeing the predatory grin spread across her face.

"I'd really like that."

* * *

><p>Coming home, even in the middle of blizzard, was a novelty he hoped to never get used to. He huddled inside, joined by his father and mother, hastily closing the door. Lily cast a few spells upon it, ones Harry was unfamiliar with. James explained. "She's just reinforcing a few of the enchantments, this wind's getting pretty cold."<p>

In a huff Lily spoke. "And this house is getting really old. You need to go to the attic and check on those ward crystals. I don't think they're working right. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them have failed!"

James let out a large sigh, but Harry took that moment to speak. "Dad, do you have any of your old stuff from school in the attic?" It was a long shot, but Harry was hoping to find the cloak among them.

"Sure, got all kinds of things stashed up there. You want to take a peak with me?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

Then Lily strode between them, her cloak already hanging on the wall. "That's a great idea." She put an arm around both. "While you two are up there checking the wards," she gave her husband a significant look, "I'll be getting dinner ready. Have fun boys!" She called walking to the kitchen.

"Evil witch," James muttered with a smile.

"You know you love it!" she called back.

"Oh no champ, leave the cloak on, it's going to be cold up there."

"What about the wards?"

James deflated. "Your mum's right, some of them have failed." He shrugged and made for the access on the second floor, pulling it down and letting a stiff breeze blow through the house. Lily's voice called from kitchen. "I knew it!"

James ignored her, and Harry's laugh, as he entered the antic.

There Harry's eyes took in various crystal's seeming to pulsate with life, there were over a dozen arrayed along the outer wall of the room. He had never seen anything like it. "Does Hogwarts have something like this?"

James' eyes went wide. "Hell no! They've got something a lot more complicated, and old. I don't think even the Headmistress knows how those wards work. Well, maybe she does a little. This is pretty basic in comparison and out of fashion."

"Fashion?"

"Do you really think we need crystals to house our magic?" He shook his head. "All you had to do was cast them over the area, but this was considered chic back at the turn of the century."

"This is where your grandparents lived?" Harry looked around doubtful.

"Harry, it was a whole lot bigger when they lived here, the inside at least. I got rid of most of that rubbish when my parents died. I hated living in such an empty house." James walked over to a few boxes and sent them Harry's way. "Most of my stuff's in there, so have a blast while I work on these crystals." He sounded disgusted.

As Harry rifled through his father's things, eyes intent for anything silver, he asked. "Why not replace them?"

James laughed mockingly. "I'm good with a wand, but I don't know that much about warding a home. I suppose I could figure it out with enough time, I know your mother is starting to read up on it." He rolled his eyes. "Just another project for her."

"Project?"

"Oh yeah, since you got better, she's had a ton of things she's started. Some awareness group for your disease. A knitting club of all things. Plus doing a few renovations to the house, oh and planning our vacation this summer."

The first box yielded only rolls of parchment and smaller boxes of photographs. One in particular caught his eye and Harry found himself gazing at it. It was one of his parents, looking like they were in their seventh year. It was snowing in the photo and James and Lily were having a snowball fight that would end with them wrestling on the ground. There they paused, blinked, and slowly kissed, before Lily giggled and bounded off, resetting the photo.

"Whoa, forgot about that one." James said wistfully. "Damn those were good times. You're mother finally caved to my manly advances, though she'll tell you I kept begging her." He winked at Harry. "You can keep it if you want, might want to get a frame for it, it looks like it's in ratty shape." James passed his wand over it, ironing the wrinkles.

James went back to the crystals, soon cursing under his breath. Harry went through the final two boxes, pocketing a familiar set of mirrors, and examining a golden snitch whose enchantment had worn off. To his disappointment, there was no cloak.

Dinner that night was an animated affair, it seemed both parents were more than glad to have their son back for the holidays. With some surprise, he realized this was as new to them as it was to him. He could not have been happier, even though Lily did launch into a lecture about his safety.

He smiled. "I did my best, I just wish there would have been something easier to use to get out of that fight."

His parents showed a long look, before Lily shook her head, James agreeing. "You did your best. You don't you really have that much to worry about. Encountering something like that reaper is a hundred to one chance."

_Speaking of…_ "Did the headmistress ever find out what it was?"

"No, she had never seen anything like it. She thought the closest it could have been was a lethifold that someone might have altered, but she said the crows discounted that theory. Hopefully, she killed it."

The conversation shifted from there to what James had been doing this year, asking if Harry had been following any of his games. Of course, Harry had! "I heard you scored seventy points in the last game against the Cannons."

James waved the compliment off. "It's the cannons. It wasn't even a game really, more like a practice. What about against Puddlemere?"

Harry grinned. "I caught that one over the WWN." He smiled. "Did you really break your arm?"

James laughed. "No, but that beater hurt like hell. I can't believe I didn't see it coming, but that's Croft for you, a damn good beater."

"Rawley with the Arrows I think is the best in the League this year."

"Rawley? No way. Addie with the Harpies, she's small but she's vicious!"

Back and forth they went before Lily cleared her throat, delight dancing in her green eyes. "I'm glad you two have something in common, but you might want to eat some dinner, too."

James and Harry shared a laugh before resuming the meal. Towards the end, as Lily was summoning desert, Harry asked her, "What's your job mum?"

"Oh, you never knew?"

"I don't remember."

"I'm a Solicitor, specifically when it comes to financial deals with politicians in the Ministry."

"Your mum keeps the crooked people in line. Don't you have emergency protocol or something?"

She frowned at her husband. "No. What I can do is ask for help from DMLE to support me if I think a deal is going to happen, or has happened. As long as I present substantial evidence, I can get their backing. The sad thing is Harry, even though this department was created to keep the Ministry clean, there are ways around it. Suspicious deals or purchases. Galleons transferred within Gringotts. There are ways around us."

James cleared his throat. "Don't be too harsh on yourself. You did put away Lestrange for a good number years, and pulled that old hag from her bench finally."

Harry looked to his mother, waiting. "The Lestrange brothers have always been close to the Dark Arts. Every time something strange would happen around them, a muggle murder, a dark artifact in their house, strange animals—you get the idea—they would get investigated, but no evidence was found."

James jumped in. "And when that old bat Winnfry, head of the Hit-Wizard Department of the DMLE, went and bought herself a choice island out in the North Sea, that raised a lot of questions, considering her family's always been dirt poor."

"Well," Lily continued, "She was close to retiring, so I thought maybe she had finally gotten sloppy. Then there was another muggle murder near the Lestrange's home. So I worked closely with Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, to watch the investigation. Sure enough, money changed hands via a questionable transaction, two thousand Galleons for a kid broom of all things, and the evidence disappeared."

Lily's lips grew into a smile. "Bones came in, nailed half the Department with fines until a dozen came forward with tales of abuse, threats, and so forth. The list goes on, but it nicely fingered both of the brothers, but we could only managed to convict one."

James interrupted. "Yeah, and Bellatrix was none too pleased with it, either. They were never that close a couple anyway, Lestrange only married her for her money."

At the name a cold, crazy laugh crawled through Harry's mind, bringing with it memories of a man slipping through a forbidding curtain. Harry shook himself, watching his parents eye him with concern. "I'm fine." They traded a look. "Really, I'm fine."

"If you so."

They finished dinner on that somber note, James reminding Harry of their trip to the healer for his check-up.

* * *

><p>The rest of the holidays passed much too quickly for Harry, having spent his time adjusting again to his parent's life. He was anxious to return to Hogwarts, but felt a need to remain just one more week. Christmas had been a quiet affair, him receiving gifts from several of his friends. Neville sent him a pack of gum that made him sound like various animals. Hermione a charmed quill to spell correctly, with a note attached.<p>

_Your spelling really is atrocious._

Gabrielle had sent him some French chocolate, which he shared with his mother. She called them 'divine.' "You really must have her send you more."

Harry hoped his friends appreciated the gifts he had sent, courtesy a trip to Diaigon Alley. From his parents he received a book from his mum, detailing the goblin struggle with wizards over the centuries. "I noticed your interest in history while going through your bag."

This was met with playful indignation.

From his father, he got replacement bristles for his broom, to prepare him for the coming matches that spring. All in all, Harry was quite pleased with the haul. Though, he wished his mother had not eaten most of his chocolate.

The trip back to Hogwarts, via the Express, was much different than his first one to the school. There he had shunned all attention, rooming with a few older years he knew would ignore him. This time he found Hermione saving him a spot in the company of a black girl with dark eyes and high cheek bones.

"I'm Harry Potter," he said offering his hand.

She took it and inclined her head. "Blaise Zabini."

Harry blinked a few times, just staring. Hermione cleared her throat. Harry took a seat, pointedly not looking the young girl's way. _Talk about changes._

"Hermione's been telling me a lot about you, Harry." Blaise began.

He tried not to groan, he did not want a repeat of Gabrielle. He looked to Hermione's a little too innocent smile. "What's she been saying?"

"That despite being outnumbered six to one you stood down Orion."

"Oh, yeah."

"Then managed to survive something called a reaper?"

"Yep, did that one, too"

"That's really impressive."

"I guess so, I'm just glad you didn't mention Quidditch, I get that enough from Oliver."

Hermione giggled and Blaise joined her, though not as enthusiastically. "Told ya so, you owe two sickles," Hermione said proudly.

Blaise fished the change from within her robes. "You were right." Her smile belied her dejected tone.

Harry looked from one to the other, demanding to know what was going on.

Blaise provided the answer. "She bet that if I wound you up, you'd mention Quidditch."

Harry decidedly ignored them the rest of the trip, even wishing for Gabrielle's presence. The two only laughed at his expense, and spent some of the time trying to draw him into their conversation. Harry was glad she had finally made a friend in Slytherin, sort of. Blaise might be a bad influence.

"Oh don't sulk, Harry, we were only teasing."

Harry sniffed, pointedly raising his head and staring out of the window. He was not sulking.

They arrived at Hogwarts that evening, entering the Great Hall to find a feast waiting for them. Harry took his seat and watched Hermione sit down beside Blaise along with some of the first years. Their conversation seemed to slow, giving Blaise questioning looks. Hermione for her part looked mad but determined. She said something, using her hands to point to Malfoy and his group. She then smiled while everyone laughed. From there it seemed things went smoother.

He wondered how she had made Blaise's acquaintance. By post over the holidays he supposed. During the feast, he sat with Gabrielle, relaying his mother's message. She giggled endlessly and said she would send him more the next chance she got. And for once, Harry did not mind having Lavender and Parvarti there, because he made sure to pull Gabrielle from their conversation.

That night saw him settled and ready to begin the next term, he was especially looking forward to facing off against Ravenclaw. They only had a month before the match.

* * *

><p>The past weeks had been brutal for Harry, with constant drills every day by Oliver trying to whip his team into shape. Ravenclaw was nowhere near as good as Slytherin, only because most of the Slytherin team were older years. Harry had used the additional drills to work on a few techniques, one of which was the Wronski Feint; he was partial to that one.<p>

In-between classes and practices, he had shown Hermione a few interesting spells. The disarming one would come in handy as well as the stunner. He taught her the cutting curse and the banishing hex. Also gave her a few pointers about conjuring cover, though he explained he had never really been that good at it himself.

For the most part, she learned the spells quickly, even pushing herself to cast them as rapidly as Harry, or trying to at least. To him they came effortlessly, thought and action melded into one motion. When the match got closer she came to him at lunch with a wolfish grin on her face.

"I got Goyle finally," she proclaimed with a haughty air. "Banished him right into the women's bathroom." She giggled. "That's when I heard someone scream. Next thing I know, he's running out of the bathroom with a commode trying to take a bite out of him."

Harry nearly snorted pumpkin juice through his nose. He wished he could have been there.

He hoped this would finally turn Hermione's fortunes around in the house of snakes. It just seemed like she had to prove herself first.

The day of the big match dawned in a brisk morning chill, rivaling the one in which Hufflepuff went against Ravenclaw. Harry stared mournfully at the stadiums, seeing Hermione waving to him. He waved back, ready to catch the snitch and get inside to get warm. The wind howled through the pitch, mocking him.

The balls were released and the players converged on them, Harry flying under, over, and by his fellow students, eyes never leaving the snitch. He was going to catch that thing as fast as he—

He blinked up at the clouds hanging in the sky, wondering who was shouting at him from so far away. He then realized that he felt rather strange. Someone came into view, he thought she looked familiar. Then the silence slowly faded and the jeers coming from the crowd reminded him where he was. He looked to his hands and saw no snitch, he heaved a sigh.

"Are you alright, son?"

Harry sat-up, almost falling back over. He shook it off and stood, searching for his broom. "Gimme back my broom and I'll be just fine." He staggered a bit, but straightened himself at the end. "By the way," he smiled, "which player hit me with a bludger?"

"That would be Trevin."

"Thanks." She handed him his broom and he took to the air, already feeling better now that he did not have to worry about things like standing. A cheer went up, but he did not bother to wave, he only had emerald eyes for the Ravenclaw beater who was getting into position as Hooch blew her whistle, warily eyeing Harry.

From the start he was thinking of only two things. He had to get the snitch. He was going to make Trevin pay. What he wanted to do was combine them somehow. That part was fuzzy, so he went about looking for the snitch. He found himself close to the ground, eyeing it, wondering what it would be like to send it at Trevin. He shook his head, thinking it better to send the young boy into it.

He shook his head again, remembering the snitch. He rose and watched his captain yelling and pointing at him. Harry looked around—

Again he was staring at the sky, this time with two people looking over him. He blinked rapidly, trying to think through the pounding in his skull. He closed his eyes, it felt better to close them. No! He had a snitch to catch!

He rose, though hands tried to stop him, he waved them off. "I can still fly," he slurred, looking for his broom. "Let me guess, Trevin?"

"Yes." Spoke a very hesitant Madam Hooch, though Oliver was beside her.

"See, he's ready!"

Harry tasted his lips; they were very dry. He felt someone put a broom in his hand, which he swung between his knees, laughed, and took off. He wobbled a bit, but he maintained his balance. There was unimportant cheering coming below, but Harry ignored that staring at the sky, thinking of how to combine the snitch and Trevin colliding with the ground. Yes, that would be grand.

_It is kind of cold._ Harry looked at his arms and realized he was shivering having forgot his cloak on the grass. _Oh well, it was heavy._

He turned his broom about looking for the golden shiny among the players flying below. His mind wondered to the clouds and the shapes therein, ignoring the noisy man shouting at him and the booming words the people cheered to. He was not sure how long he stayed up there before the pounding in his skull grew worse and his thoughts seemed to focus. Feeling dizzy, he held his head, coming to his senses.

"Oh bloody hell, I should be in the hospital ward."

He looked to Oliver and saw him frantically trying to block the on-coming ball. Harry listened to the announcer, saying the score was sixty to eighty, in favor of Gryffindor.

_Screw the score, I gotta get out of here before If I fall off my..._ He trailed as he saw the golden snitch flitting across the grass. He licked his lips and shivered, the golden snitch beckoning him. _I catch it, then go to the ward._

He leveled his broom and shot forward, his eyes upon the tiny ball. It took seconds before others began to react and the announcer to say the Ravenclaw seeker was heading for it, too. Harry glanced up, wincing in pain at the sudden shift in sight. He was still closer, though he struggled for a second.

"—oh no, not again!"

Instinct took hold and Harry spun his broom at the last moment, the world spinning. He saw something golden flash. His hand shot out and he felt something close within it as he struck the ground and went tumbling. He staggered to his feet, fighting back his headache and feeling the blood pumping in his head as his ire grew.

_That no-good louse! That bloody, mother…_ Every thought he had was consumed with expletives aimed at Trevin. Then he looked up, hand on head and saw the beater waving him to, smiling, mocking, daring Harry to do something.

Harry smiled, pulled out his wand and aimed it at the pitch, then flicked his point upward. The ground heaved up, a massive ball made of dirt, bedrock, and grass flying through the air to strike the shocked Ravenclaw. There was a muffled impact before he saw Trevin's body flailing towards the ground. It was quite a satisfying sight to behold.

* * *

><p>His detentions were nearly over after two weeks of polishing the dirtiest suits of armor the castle had to offer, all without his a wand.<p>

"A wand is a tool for great things, Mr. Potter, not for petty revenge."

"He hit me in the head with a bludger. Twice! Almost three times! Personally, I think should have sent something bigger at him, maybe the castle!" His response had gotten him a few days extra punishment.

Which was not really fair, considering he had not been in his right mind when he did that. If he had, he would have been more discreet. What made matters worse was he could never play the innocent card with Madam Hooch again.

"I knew I should've fouled you that first game, but I just didn't think a firstie would do that. I'll be watching you closely in the future."

His friends came and went to keep him company, though most grew bored. A few times Hermione charmed the rag to clean by itself, giving his red hands a break. Through Gabrielle, he learned that the Quidditch Captain, a Roger Davies, had set out from the start with the strategy to knock Harry out of the game, giving them an automatic win. This fueled Harry's imagination in thinking of creative ways to get him back. He would just have to be very discreet about it is all.

* * *

><p>Harry stood outside a girl's restroom, idly cleaning a suit of armor; his final day of punishment. A few students gave him curious stares, by now most were familiar with his presence, if not his feat. Through Gabrielle, he had learned that people were looking forward to his next game, hoping for something just as entertaining to happen. Harry was hoping to disappoint them.<p>

A rustling of cloth came from down the hall and Harry turned to see a dozen women rushing towards him. He smiled and turned his head away, knowing already what was to come.

Into the bathroom they rushed, going for the stalls, having suddenly come down with the urge to piss. They would relieve themselves and exit the stalls, before washing their hands and talking for a second, as girls did. Then they would turn to leave and face Roger Davies staring them from above the entrance, saying, "Oh baby, I knew you'd drop your knickers for me."

The first scream was golden, the second priceless, and the others rising in crescendo made for a harmony that Harry could listen to all day. There was a thump as the victim was pulled to the ground. He repeated the phrase, while a dozen incantations were spoken in reprisal. Roger burst from the door with an unrecognizable face as parts of his body, and parts that were not there originally, trailed behind him.

Harry died laughing as the dozen frazzled women emerged, wand tips glowing. Harry cleared his throat and went back to polishing the suit of armor, trying desperately to ignore twelve very dubious females.

* * *

><p>Harry limped into the Great Hall where people began to snicker. He gave a pair of Slytherins a dirty look. "Laugh it up arseholes," he muttered.<p>

He found his seat at the Gryffindor table and conjured a cushion, wishing Madam Pomfrey had given him a pain potion. After dinner he was going brew one himself. He started to eat, but heard someone sniff behind him. He recognized it as one of the women who had objected to him laughing at their expense. They could not prove he had been behind Davies' behavior, that still had not stopped them.

"How's your bum, mate?" Neville asked behind a smile.

"Same as your face; cheeky." Harry resumed his meal, hoping everyone got the hint he was in no mood for jokes; his butt hurt too much.

A familiar presence leaned over him, smiling. "Hi, Hermione."

"Looks like you don't have buns of steel, eh?" She guffawed, before placing something in front of him. A small vial with purple contents.

He smiled in relief. "Thank-you." He took the vial, unstoppered it, but her small hand stopped him.

"What?"

"You have to eat it with a full stomach."

"You're my hero." He placed it aside and began devouring food, the faster he ate the faster he could put this behind him.

"I'm just returning the favor, Harry," was her parting statement, leaving him to relish freedom from pain.

That night, finishing up a last minute potions essay in the library, Harry could appreciate better the humor the wronged girls had placed upon him, just not the length they had allowed it to happen. Roger on the other hand had become very paranoid since disappearing suddenly from the loo. Mission accomplished.

Until a graceful hand slammed the book shut in front of him. He followed the slim arm up to reveal a pretty face with silvery blonde hair and two angry blue eyes. The other slim hand held a wand, its tip pointed at his a face. For a moment, he felt the urge to do nothing but drool and bask in her beauty. Recognizing the feeling, he pushed it aside.

"You must be Fleur."

"Oui. You must be 'Arry Potter." Her accent was stronger than her sister's.

He tried to recall when he might have pissed her off, but failed. Had he stood Gabrielle up sometime? "What can I help you with?" His hand currently below the table freed his wand and directed it at her. He was not really in the mood to fight off another irate female, especially one he had not wronged.

"Help me?" She scoffed. "Roger Davies."

"Yes, he had an accident in the loo and wound up in the girl's bathroom."

Her eyes narrowed, and Harry began to see slight differences in this face to the one he knew. Lines not as sharp, lips not as full, body not as developed. _Hello! _It appeared his hormones had finally caught-up with his mental age. Feeling flustered he tried to concentrate on her eyes only. It worked to some degree.

_Oh!_ "Roger's your boyfriend, right?" _Great, a scorned woman. _He considered casting a quick disarming spell before she got creative, but it was possible she just wanted to trade words.

"Oui, what you did was very embarrassing, for moi and he."

"And him telling Trevin to beat the shit out of me with a bludger wasn't any better?"

"Trevin did it, Roger did not. You already got Trevin back."

"And Roger already got me back."

"Non, the girls got you back."

_Okay, this is going nowhere fast, and looks like the she's going to cast something._ He recalled what Roger had looked liked and imagined Fleur had helped to reverse some of the damage. He cringed, hoping that is not what she had in mind for him.

"Listen, I've had a busy day—"

Her lips quirked. "Yes, the suit of armor did keep you busy."

He flushed. "Right, but I'm not in the mood to duel, I don't want another detention, and I want to finish this essay before I go to bed."

She scoffed until Harry motioned with his eyes to underneath the table. She took a cautious step back, until his wand came into few. "I see, I shouldn't underestimate you."

"I'm pretty quick with wand. Just ask Orion and his friends."

"There had been rumors…"

"You should have listened to them. Now, like I said, I don't…"

Fleur lowered her wand, eliciting a sigh of relief from Harry. "He did not deserve that treatment." It looked like she had calmed down some.

"I'm not going to argue. So long as he doesn't do something that stupid again, I'll leave him alone. Tell him Quidditch is about playing to win, not doing something underhanded to get the advantage. Now, are we done here?"

She nodded and walked away briskly, head held high. Harry wanted nothing more than to finish his essay, go to bed, and put this day behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN::** On time this week, though I've been a little under the weather. Had to read through this twice to catch most of the bugs. I might have missed quite a few, so I apologize for that slip-up. I think the writing is decent here, a little on the plain side. The second year, what I'm working on now, was coming a bit slowly. I had hit a bad writer's block, but I think I am through that now. Hopefully there won't be any breaks between the two years. A few questions for those who wish to review. Was the humor done well enough, never really has been my strong point? Also, what did people think of Lily's job? I figured she would be pretty self-righteous, kind of like Harry, and would pursue something like that.

Well I hope every enjoyed it!

-byl, out.


	5. Chapter 4: Falling

**All Good Things…**

**Chapter 4: Falling**

It was a quaint kitchen, done in light blues for the counter tops and purple flowers for the flooring and walls. The cabinets were a ruddy brown, the bronze knobs scratched and faded from use. Rummaging through one was a thin woman of gray hair tied in a lose bun. On the tips of her toes she stood, muttering under her breath about the importance of finding just the right pitcher for tea. Her wand lay entangled in her bun, long forgotten once the dishes had been cleared and put away.

Watching her, as he was apt to do, was a tall man of broad shoulders and barrel chest. Gray hair, unkempt and ragged, ran past his shoulders, while a smooth-shaven face lay below green, vibrant eyes. He thought about using his wand to aid her but knew the act would be seen as a bother. For her, tea was meant to be savored without magic. She claimed it tasted better, and he was not one to argue.

She eventually claimed the pitcher she wanted; one of blue and white porcelain older than their house. It had been a gift from the last emperor of China.

With the tea poured, both eased into their seats, content for one last quiet eve before their departure in the morn.

"I'm really going to miss this old house."

He raised his glass to that. "You say that each time."

She smiled, running a hand over the cracked and worn table. "And you agree with me each time. Not that there have been many times, but I wish we could have stayed longer. You know, lived here proper?"

"I understand. Those other houses had been well worn. This time we're leaving before we're ready." It was a sobering thought, one that brought a bitter melancholy with it. It had been centuries since Great Britain had been threatened from within like this.

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing Nickolas? You could do a lot more."

He refused to meet her dark eyes, guilt plying through his stomach. "I'm just tired." His last bloody encounter came to mind. A fight that had ended with him victorious some fifty years back. He had not extended his life to fight ambitious wizards with plans of grandiose. He had done it to spend more time studying, and to enjoy boundless years with his wife. That last encounter had nearly made Perenelle a widow.

Two wrinkled hands covered his own, and he glanced to see a warm smile touching her lips. She understood.

"We are helping in our own way, and Britain has other defenders. Ariana is shouldering the burden well."

She squeezed his hand. "She had a good teacher."

Nickolas missed those days. Everything had seemed so innocent with the vibrant youth living under them. His first meeting with her had been at a bar of all places, when Alberforth was her caretaker. Due to her handicap, she had been sequestered in the basement to keep others safe. Tales of her bouts of magic had made the bar scarce on clientele. When his drink tried to devour him, he investigated further, discovering a young teen with ample magic but little control. Perenelle had not been pleased when he had brought Ariana to their house. There was a reason they had chosen not to bear children. In time, Ariana's enthusiasm had grown on her.

She was also the reason they were moving. The Headmistress had asked a favor.

"I think I should go check on our guest. Her fever was high last I checked." Perenelle poured another cup of tea, adding a few spoons of sugar and a dollop of honey. Their guest liked it sweet. "I'll be back soon."

"Oh, you worry too much. I'll just get this old room packed." As he left, he heard her murmur, "Why do I always wait till the last moment to pack the kitchen?"

_It's because you always cook a large dinner our last night._

As he walked through the empty house, his steps echoing on the wood floor, he made a cursory check, ensuring the chests had been placed by the front door.

Towards the back, in Ariana's old pink room, he found Sybil Trelawney lying upon an old feather mattress. Large glasses covered her eyes while beads, scarves, and string decorated her clumsy, brown hair.

"Hello dear, I've brought tea."

She did not respond. Shrugging, he placed it on an old mahogany nightstand and sat by her side. Scrutinizing her, he \ noted how these past months had taken their toll. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes seemed set into a skull. _Poor girl._ She had been hounded for months, ever since she had uttered a prophecy in a crowded pub.

_He has arrived, the one to foil the Dark Lord that sleeps in shadow. Embrace the one bearing the mark of lightning._

He and Ariana had both searched for such an individual, but their task had ended in disappointment. Not soon after, Sybil had been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban. Nickolas suspected the charges forged, and when Agatha Winnfry had been arrested last Christmas, the charges were dropped and the seer released. Only to be hunted by masked assailants immediately. She had sought help from Ariana, who had asked him to provide her safety.

He knew there might be a fight involved, but so far they had been discreet. They would soon vanish from this isle and Trelawney's safety would be guaranteed. Once secure, they would use her talent to find out more about this hidden Dark Lord. His protégé would have to work on her own, but she had been doing that for decades now. She would be fine.

"I've seen him." Trelawney whispered, eyes opening and focusing beyond what lay before her. "The Shadowed Man who walks many paths at once."

Nickolas put a hand to her forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her. "Yes, the Shadowed Man. What do you know about him? Do you know how he can be found, or killed? You said killing him would not be easy."

She looked to the side, away from his gnarled face. "The boy-marked-by-lightning shouldn't catch the snitch."

Dealing with sick seers was always difficult, considering their talent lead their thoughts astray. "Of course, he shouldn't. But I asked how can the Shadowed Man be killed?"

Her eyes closed. "I don't know, whenever I look, I always see darkness. His secrets are shrouded."

Somebody hiding their future from a seer was an extremely difficult bit of magic. Whoever this self-styled Dark Lord maybe, he had been very careful thus far.

"The lightning boy knows."

Nickolas gave her a piercing stare. "He does? Where is he?"

"He shouldn't catch the snitch, poor dear."

_Was he a Quidditch Player?_ There may have been a team visiting Britain last summer. It narrowed the possibilities greatly. There were not many players under the age of seventeen.

"Oh, hello."

He looked down to find her staring passed his shoulder. Glancing back saw nothing but empty space. "Who are greeting?"

"The Grim Reaper. He's here for me, and I think I'm ready to go." She fell silent and closed her eyes, a contented expression spreading across her face.

Nickolas slowly stood and snapped his fingers, his wand appearing instantly, calmly grasped within his hand. He exited the room, spells already coming to the forefront of his mind, ready to be unleashed with a thought. Back through the house he walked, eyes darting into every corner, seeking that which meant to end Sybil's life. The wards surrounding Ariana's room would keep her safe for the time being.

Before checking the house more thoroughly, he had to ensure Perenelle's safety. Entering the kitchen, he paused midstep, eyes taking in the pieces of blue and white porcelain littering the floor. By the sink, lying deathly still, was his wife. A pool blood leaked from a slash encircling her neck, and her eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling. Inclining his wand and whispering an ancient word found her soul and magic to have departed this world.

Standing quietly, he cast spell after spell into the lit kitchen, each coming back to him without finding the intruder.

"Where are you?" No response.

With a flick, he turned the room's air into a poisonous gas and waited. Something stirred in the corner, a small spell cast. He unleashed his fury. The pieces of china ripped through the air, glowing white-hot. The furniture became glass and shattered, joining the china, in striking the intruder.

They struck the wall, igniting it instantly, but it fizzled from lack of oxygen.

"Clever." He turned to find a man of medium height staring at him, face cowled and wand raised high. Beneath that black hood he saw two ruby eyes, glowing like embers from a dying fire.

The man bowed as a duelist would before a match. The last men to have done that to him were Albus Dumbledore and Gillert Grindelwald.

In a low voice, higher than a whisper, he spoke. "It is an honor to duel you." His wand glowed briefly, and the air returned to normal.

"The honor is not returned." Nickolas drew a breath and took a step back. "Do you know how many of your kind I've battled? Dozens."

He could feel a smile beneath that hood. "Yes, but I'm not so easily killed."

Nickolas cast him a grim smile, memories of long gone keeping the painful reality of his wife's demise at bay. "Neither were they."

The air seemed to grow thick before an unnamed signal was given and each loosed their magic upon the other. Perenelle's body became a snake that tried to devour him. He sent to writhing out the window, unwilling to let that desecration break his concentration. The air shook, blowing the Dark Lord into a wall, while the cabinets sprouted vines and latched him in place. The floor boards below started to wail, screaming and crying in tones meant to deafen weaker men. Nickolas shielded his ears while he deflected a series of spells sent his way.

His opponent severed the vines and slipped loose, quick as a mouse and limber as a snake. He twisted, avoiding a deadly curse, and conjured a shield to block another. A golden sword appeared before the Dark Lord, slicing through the shield. The cowled man only slashed with his wand, sending a spinning spell at the sword. It struck, turning it crimson. The altered sword came back Nickolas' way, but he was already summoning fire to consume it. To his surprise, it survived the flames and swung.

He parried with his wand, sending sparks flying. With a quick flick he touched the hilt of the blade, shattering the light.

A spell-chain came at him, and he deflected and blocked most. One curse got through, cutting away a portion of his thick hair. Blood poured out, but a quick touch healed it. He responded with a nasty jinx, anticipating his opponent's action. His timing was perfect, but his opponent was faster than he anticipated, barely avoiding the spell. Nickolas dropped to his knees and touched the floor boards with his wand, letting a wave rise up and go forward, destroying the lower cabinetry and leaving the pieces of wood scattered in its wake. His opponent danced over it, only to be knocked back by the invisible force above it.

His adversary struck the ground and Nickolas began weaving his wand in quick motions, words flying from his lips. The room was consumed by shadow, the floor suddenly vanished, the air grew thick as concrete, and a blinding stream of light, emanating from the tip of his wand, shot forward and struck the Dark Lord's heart, freezing him in place and blocking any magic he could call forth.

"Check mate." Nickolas said, his eyes burning with righteous fury.

Waving his hand returned light to the kitchen, revealing a dark abyss where the floor had dwelt. Below the aged wizard lay a thin sheet of metal preventing his falling, while around his hand there spun a series of runes, allowing him movement within the frozen air.

The stream of light turned red allowing his opponent speech.

"I'm impressed." A crooked smile revealed pure white teeth. "I would clap if I could."

"Your words mean nothing." At the back of his mind, demanding attention, resided the picture of his wife's still form. A woman whom had loved him for centuries.

Nickolas snapped his fingers and the kitchen resumed its normal appearance, as if no battle had taken place. He looked to the Dark Lord and twisted his wand, hearing a gasp from the cowled intruder. His head began to stretch, pulled away its body. The slow tearing of flesh filled the room. Following that was the snapping bone, and the man's head was ripped from the body. It struck the wall with wet splat, red blood mingling with the purple floral design.

Nickolas released the spell and watched the body crumple to the floor. Going to his wife's body, that returned with the rest of the kitchen, he healed the damage—he knew it futile, but he wanted his wife to look her best in death. Wet tears fought to spill from his eyes, but he refused to shed them; there would be time enough to mourn later. For now he had to send word to…

"That hurt."

He spun, eyes taking in the uncovered head. Hairless, bone white skin shone in the dim light, looking leather in detail, while two red eyes looked out from narrow slits. Nickolas released a sigh and walked over, green eyes upon red.

"You went that far destroying yourself?"

The head smiled, regardless the exposed spinal cord and esophagus. "I've made myself stronger, so when old wizards full of themselves try to kill me, they are left with a surprise." His eyes dimmed for a moment, before they glowed. Within Nickolas' mind, the picture of his dead wife's body came to the forefront, her voice speaking to him, demanding why he let this happen.

He shook his head, repelling the attack. The head smirked. "As I said, impressive. It is a shame to lose that knowledge of yours."

Nickolas looked over to the inert body and noted the wand well was out of reach. "You're the first Dark Lord I've vanquished not to be quivering in rage by now."

"I am not yet defeated."

"Oh—"

Something cold slipped through his back, snapping his spinal cord, puncturing a lung, and exiting out his chest. He peered down as his body went limp, seeing nothing but a shadowed point jutting below his heart. His wand clattered the floor and the point was withdrawn, allowing blood to pour forth. Nickolas stumbled to the ground, body numb and breathing coming in sharp gasps. From his vantage point, he witnessed the intruder's body stand, pick up the head, and hold it cradled beneath an arm.

The severed head spoke. "In a duel you outclass anybody this century. I would expect nothing else from the man who singlehandedly stopped Dumbledore and Grindelwald's push through Serbia. However, you underestimated me, or, as I like to think, I was far more clever with my magic than you."

On cue, a figure stepped over his failing body to stand next to its master. It was a figure of medium height and composed of nothing but shadow, and where eyes and mouth should exist there lay nothing but darkness. Nickolas blinked, realizing tears were streaming from his eyes.

"Kill the seer." Spoke the head in dismissive tones. The assassin obeyed, melting, becoming spilt ink upon the floor, joining shadows cast by the light. "He is of an old magic and completely undetectable, even by those who can feel magic such as ourselves." The head smiled, cruel and victorious.

"W-what is your name?" Nickolas asked, his eyes growing heavy and his mind clouded.

"My name?" It pondered for a moment. "My name is Lord Voldemort. Farwell, old man."

With his last breath, Nickolas began to whisper in a low voice, focusing his mind as much as he could. A final bit of effort and life left him as a bright liquid poured from his eyes, only to disappear a moment later.

XXXXX

Harry Potter sat in a corner of the Gryffindor Common room, crimson draping the walls and furniture. Around him, each reclining in a large chair, were his fellow first years exchanging their opinions on the latest Quidditch match. Most times Harry did not join them, but each game his father played was one he yearned to listen to. It was an experience he hoped would never get old for him. He laughed numerous times throughout the game, his father's tactics bringing both frown and smile to his face.

His father had been using a new tactic this game, accidently colliding with the opposing team's chasers right before they were going to shoot. Unfortunately, they had still lost the game even when their seeker had caught the snitch. Neville summed it up best.

"Just too many fouls. The Tornadoes are pretty bad at penalty shots, but they got lucky this game."

As they continued discussing the various merits of both teams, while the first year girls sat none too far away giving the boys curious stares, a news report came over the station.

"Yesterday, as of 3:00pm, there have been four dozen attacks by mountain trolls on both muggle and magical properties. Some believe that a band of ogres are organizing the raids, considering the average intelligence of trolls, while others cite the shrinking reservations for the creatures. An emergency session of the Wizengamot has been set for this evening."

The other first years ignored the interesting announcement, returning the stares of their house mates.

Harry ignored the byplay, wondering if the sudden attacks were related to the dark future that Magorian had predicted.

Lavender stood, accompanied by her friends, and joined the Quidditch fans. "Is it really that much fun?" She cast the radio a dubious look.

Harry answered for them all. "Yep. The announcer on the station usually does a great job."

Parvarti rolled her eyes. "I think it's boring just listening. I'd much rather watch it."

Seamus scoffed. "Please, like standing around doing each other's hair isn't boring."

Lavender jumped in. "At least we're doing something instead of just sitting. I mean, Harry I can understand, his dad's in it. But…" Her words fell on Harry's deaf ears. _I can't believe I'm getting pulled into a boys-versus-girls debate. I haven't been in one of those in years._

Not caring what they thought, he stood and left, muttering something about the bathroom, though he made his way to the portrait. Most times he could forget his housemates were still kids and sometimes he could not. With Hermione and Blaise it was different, considering he could have interesting conversations with them. The same for Gabrielle, so long as her gossiping friends remained behind.

Speaking of which, he glanced back to see her diminutive form crawl out of the portrait. Her destination obvious, he waited, leaning against the wall.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she drew astride him.

She gazed at him, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Can we go for a walk?"

He shrugged and started, not really caring so long as she kept the conversation from becoming too childish. "What did everyone think about you leaving?"

"They were too busy trying to see who was better." She smiled, but glanced to Harry and it fell. "Why did you leave?"

"I felt like it."

"That's it? No other reason? You weren't bored because we were acting like kids?"

_Maybe she's more perceptive than I gave her credit for. Or she's been watching me._ He was eerily reminded of his earlier years with Ginny. He hoped that was not the case. _Wait? Why else would she sit with me earlier this year?_ It could not be more obvious; Gabriel had a crush on him. Bringing himself back to the conversation, he responded. "Yes, I get bored when people act immature. That's just who I am."

"You're the same age as the rest of us."

_No, I'm really not._ He chose a more diplomatic reply. "That doesn't mean I have to act my age."

She furrowed her brow, choosing to walk in silence. He assumed she was digesting his words. "Why did you want to be my friend at the start of the school year?" That was an easy segue to let her down easy; a good way to nip it in the bud.

She frowned. "Because you are going to be a great wizard."

Harry gave her a shrewd glance, the line not quite what he had been expecting. "How can you be sure?"

"You really don't see it?"

"Well, yeah, I see it…some. I'm pretty good in most subjects, I'm a good flyer. So yeah, I guess I can see where you get that." He finished lamely, not able to explain his advantages came from a prior life.

"That is why I want to be your friend; to learn from you."

"You want to _learn_ from me? Why? I don't mean why from me, just why?"

"You have met my sister?"

"Yeah, she was very intimidating."

"She is beautiful, talented, and powerful. Everything I am not. My father keeps asking when I will do something great. I tell him I don't know when." By the end her head was downcast, eyes studying the tarnished stone floor.

Harry floundered for words, unsure his response. He knew Fleur to be a talented witch, but everything he had seen with Gabrielle was mediocre. Then again, Neville had been mediocre too and had been one of the few to last the longest in the Department of Mysteries. "So you think hanging around me, you'll pick up a few tricks?"

Her head slowly bobbed, in a quiet voice she spoke. "But sometimes you don't like when I'm around and leave."

Harry raised his hands. "I'm sorry, but I—"

"Get bored, I understand. You are a great wizard—"

Harry blew out a frustrated breath. "Cut that crap. I'm not some wizard like Dumbledore. I'm just Harry."

She gave him a fierce look, green eyes challenging. "You disarmed a fifth year and survived a dark creature. You caught a snitch after being hit in the head twice. Just being Harry seems to do a lot of great things."

"Look, just because—no! I'm not going to argue whether what've I done is 'great," he quoted the word with his fingers. "The issue here is you just want to be my friend for what I can do for you. Screw that. You want to be like your sister, go ahead, but leave me out of it." With that he stormed off, hearing a quiet sniffle as he strode away.

_Great going Potter, you just made a little girl cry._ He sighed, that had not been one of his finest moments.

XXXXX

His distance from Gabrielle hurt for a time, surprisingly, but he tried not to dwell on it. Friends were there for you, not for what you could do for them. He spent some time with Neville, playing with his food when the boys turned to pointless topics. When they talked Quidditch, though, he would join their discussions as often as he could, though he knew it to be forced enthusiasm on his part.

February came and went, and with it snowstorms and long nights trapped in a warm castle. Hagrid called him to tea frequently, in thanks for saving his life against the creature. The half-giant revealed the centaurs had banned him and Harry from their territory. The whole centaur nation was in an uproar for what they saw as a deliberate attack by wizard-kind.

"Didn't the headmistress tell them differently?"

"O'sure, but they didn't listen."

"Do you think it's connected with the recent troll uprisings?"

Hagrid looked around cautiously, before leaning closer. "What I'm about to tell ya stays here." Harry promised and Hagrid leaned back, relaxing by the roaring fire. "The Headmistress thinks it's all connected to that dark future Magorian was ravin' about." He nodded sagely. "She's taken a few steps, asked a few questions. Oh!" His eyes lit-up. "There was somethin' else. Magorian was a seer, right? A powerful one. Others have been dyin' over the past few years. One in France just this summer."

Harry went cold, imagining a dark net slowly closing over the wizarding world, while two red eyes looked on. "Who does she think is behind it?"

"Dunno, but she's doing all she can." Hagrid took a sip from his tea, laced Harry was sure, then cast a look to the empty rug beside him. He took a longer sip.

On that note Harry bid his good-bye, already seeing the signs that his friend would slip into an inebriated slumber. He locked the door behind him and made his way back to the castle in the crisp night air.

Very soon the Quidditch fever would consume Slytherin and Hufflepuff as they got ready for their upcoming match. Harry was rooting for Cedric, hoping that would put Gryffindor and Hufflepuff in direct competition for the cup. That would make the match that much more intense. Thankfully, Slytherin had no chance at the cup this year, having never recovered from the points Dumbledore docked from Orion.

The following week saw Valentine's Day unleashed upon Hogwarts in banners of pink and red, while girls giggled endlessly in corners, whispering like spies, planning their attacks. It made Harry notice some of the older girls, wishing that his body was far more mature than it was. With those conflicting thoughts running rampant in his head, he chose to vent himself on his broom, doing battle with the brisk weather.

The month of love passed, coming to a close with a Quidditch match. Slytherin decimated the Hufflepuffs, scattering the chasers and knocking out the keeper early in the game. From there it just went downhill, until Cedric ended the game with a quick dash against the Slytherin seeker. They won by only forty points, putting Gryffindor in a clear lead for the House Cup, much to McGonagall's pleasure. She would constantly remark to the players where precisely she would place it in her office.

As March rolled around, Professor Riddle began to take leave of his lessons, having a variety of people cover him. Some were interesting, but the class yearned for Riddle, by far a favorite among the students. Harry himself had been watching the man like a hawk, looking for any crack in his demeanor, any hint that the insane Voldemort lay beneath. Disappointment greeted him each time. Through the grapevine, he heard that Riddle was being called by the Minister of Magic for consultation. Another professor gone for days at a time was Dumbledore, usually leaving within a day of Riddle's absence.

Harry got the sense both were vying for Minister Bagman's ear. Who, according to many, was a great leader with a wonderful sense of humor. Harry hoped he was vastly different from the man he knew or this world was in trouble.

Strange disappearance aside, Harry had a stroke of luck, for he had finally located the hermit ghost that haunted the east wing of the school. It was not Moaning Myrtle, which frustrated him, because her death had been key in closing the Chamber and getting Hagrid expelled. He had now accounted for the all the ghosts and that one was his last lead. Maybe it had not been opened, and it was still down there, hidden, with a deadly beast waiting to be unleashed. There was one way to find out.

He wanted to keep both subjects separate so teachers would not get curious. Especially, if it had been opened in this world.

First to learn of Hagrid's background, he went to Professor McGonagall who would have been attending school at the time.

"Heavens that was years ago," she said taking a seat and offering him tea.

He accepted, looking around her office, noting subtle differences between the one that lay in his memories. There were not as many books and many trinkets that hailed from around the world, souvenirs from trips no doubt. His attention returned to her as she spoke.

"Well, Hagrid was an _interesting _student is the best way to put it." She smiled as she said it. "I was his tutor for transfiguration you see, and he was rather more interested in wrestling trolls than learning. He did pass his exam after some…persuasion. Full marks, and he was very proud, but his other hobby became known."

"Other hobby?"

"Yes, you see Hagrid has an obsession with dangerous animals. He sees them as cute." From her tone, she disagreed. "Well, sometime in his fifth year he decided to show his pet spider to his crush, poor Myrtle didn't know what to do. She screamed and ran."

"The spider, or acromantula rather, got loose, and Hagrid was expelled for endangering the life of everyone in the castle." She took a sip of her tea, Harry echoing the gesture. "Very sad, since he had been progressing rather well by then."

Harry turned the conversation to the upcoming fight between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and talked tactics with his Head of House. She asked him a few pointed questions about the current roster, and Harry answered bluntly. She schooled her reaction and bid him farewell, pointing to the top of her shelf she had cleared for the trophy. Harry only laughed.

The second part to the mystery, considering no history book had information on the chamber's opening, then again in his world it had been hushed over, lay in talking to Riddle himself. He thought with confronting him the man might finally break his façade. Unfortunately, he did not return until a week after the Ravenclaw and Slytherin match. Slytherin won, two-hundred to fifty.

That left the final game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Between Oliver's fanatical practice schedule, of which Harry skipped most, he managed to find time to speak with his DADA professor.

He waited outside his office, wiping sweaty hands upon his robes. He kept telling himself this was not Voldemort, but Tom Riddle, yet nothing was certain.

"Come-in, Harry!" he called.

Harry took a steadying breath and entered the office greeting Riddle with a smile.

The office itself was spacious, with an odd assortment of creatures kept preserved in glass jars at the back. Silvery instruments decorated his desk, similar to the ones once owned by Albus Dumbledore. Books dominated the far right wall, while posters featuring idealistic quotes sat opposite them.

"Take a seat and tell me what you want to talk about. I don't think you had a problem with last week's grindylow essay, so I'm at a loss." He folded his hands, waiting, all ears.

"Sir, I was doing research into the Founding Fathers, for a side project of mine, and came across the Schism."

Tom nodded knowingly. "Yes, the Schism that drove them apart. Sad times for the school and them, but I think it was for the best, honestly."

Harry plowed onward. "I read Slytherin may have left behind a hidden chamber." He could feel his heart beat pounding in his ears, eyes looking on with intense scrutiny.

Tom's mask never wavered. "That is quite the rumor, and interestingly enough, that was once a hobby of my own. Interesting your pursuit would mirror mine." He smiled. "Found anything yet?"

It took Harry a moment to collect himself. "Uh, no, but I heard some rumor that a student had opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. I know that is when you had gone to school, and I thought you might know for certain…" he trailed as a strange calm overcame Riddle, his eyes seeming to focus inward.

"An apt name you gave it." He licked his lips, eyes curious upon Harry, his merry façade falling away. "It was something I had tried to find in my youth, considering I thought I had a few advantages over others who tried." His voice grew distant. "But no, the Chamber of Secrets was never opened, let alone fifty years ago."

Harry noted the longing in his voice, and the way something red seemed to stir in the darkness of his eyes. "Uh, thank-you, Professor. That is a lot of help." He hastily stood and made to leave.

Riddle's dark eyes speared him. "Watch out where you tread in your search, Harry, you might not like what Slytherin left behind. See you in class."

Harry almost bolted from the office, his heart beating uncontrollably. _If he's not Voldemort, he still has the potential._ Harry would never forget the red of his nemesis' eyes; the same red that he had seen birthed in his teacher's.

XXXXX

The end of the year was rapidly approaching, and students hurried to finish their projects or rush to study for final exams. The ones hit hardest were the usual fifth and seventh years, something Harry did not miss at all, though this time around it would be simpler for him. Not having to deal with Voldemort left his entire childhood open for enjoyment, though so far there had been a few hitches. He doubted there would not be any more, but he would face them as he did the last, as best he could.

After childhood, he definitely knew what he wanted to do. If there were indeed some dark wizard, Voldemort notwithstanding, he would join the Aurors and help fight it.

Currently, he was enjoying the day. Beside him were Hermione and Blaise going on about the latest transfiguration homework. It was an extra credit practical assigned by professor McGonagall for the end of the term. He had already managed to complete it by changing a ball into a puddle of water. As the two girls talked back and forth about the supposed theory behind changing the properties of an object so drastically, he was staring skyward, watching the clouds drift through the enchanted ceiling. It was incredible the magic behind it, the thought of a spell constantly mirroring the weather outside and continually shifting.

Hermione's voice reached his ears. "No, I don't think we have to first change it into an object that is similar, I think it's just one all one step. I think the wand motion is important, but the words might play a bigger role."

Blaise responded, heat entering her tone. "Don't lecture me on the basics. I _know_ what we have to do. I was merely saying if we _imagined_ it changing from object into another then it may be simpler for us."

Hermione shook her head, nose in the air. "That defeats the point of the exercise completely! She wants us to push ourselves in instant transfiguration by changing one substance into a completely different one. Solid to a liquid."

He was surprised they were having such a problem with it; both were more than skilled in the subject. Was there a mental block? Or was the theory that difficult for them to grasp? Pulling out his wand, he aimed it at Hermione's forgotten fork and uttered the spell, waving his wand in a circle. The fork became a puddle of water. He waved it again and it disappeared, shifting into air. That silenced them both, each giving him a glare.

"I wasn't showing off, just showing you how easy it is. Your problem is you're over thinking it."

"Really? I thought you had to understand it to do it." Was Blaise's acidic response.

"You do, but it's not as complex as you think. You don't imagine it or even try to understand it. You just focus on shifting it as you cast the spell." He kept his tone reasonable, but from their expressions, it still irritated them.

"Okay Mr. Perfect, teach us."

He sighed. "I just did." Two narrowed eyes caused him to extrapolate. "Okay. When we changed a toothpick into a needle, they were similar so it was easier. Just cast the spell and think of changing it. Most didn't get it because they couldn't understand transfiguration. That's not the same here. Here you are altering the properties even more, just not as much as you think."

He pointed his wand at Blaise's unused knife, uttering the spell. In an instant it became water. "All I did was imagine it becoming something more loose, I did not try and constantly hold the image of water in my head."

They gave the puddle a shrewd glance before Hermione spoke up. "So we were basically confusing ourselves?"

"Exactly. Your intent is to make it become water, but you're losing yourself in trying to imagine it. That's why you kept producing water instead of transfiguring it." He cast the spell once more and smiled. "It's just magic."

Both shared a glance before removing their wands and putting them at various utensils littered around them. One became ice in the shape of a spoon, while another melted. Harry sighed. He corrected Blaise's arm motion and explained to Hermione again to at least keep in mind it was water she was changing it into. With a few more attempts, both had managed to successfully cast the spell.

Quite proud of her achievement, Blaise was busy turning her fork back and forth between the two states, occasionally still botching the spell, much to her ire. Hermione was practicing as well, having the same amount of luck. Finally satisfied, she put away her wand and turned to Harry.

"I see why this is second year material. You have to keep several things in mind while casting."

Blaise followed her example. "It would have been easier if McGonagall had explained it. If she had it wouldn't have been extra credit, I guess." She turned to Harry and gave him a smile, all teeth. "So are you afraid of the today's match?"

"Not really. I don't think they're going to do anything. It is Hufflepuff after all."

"I'm not so sure. They may just be trying to lull you into a false sense of security."

"Oh, you think so? I think maybe you're full of it."

"No, no, I heard from a few puffs that you'll never make it to the snitch."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, stop it. That won't work with him. Besides, he's right, they _are_ Hufflepuffs.

Blaise blew out a breath in a huff. "You two are no fun."

"And you're just bored." With that Hermione stood and gathered her things, stuffing them into a leather bag. "I don't know about you two, but I'd going to the library to finish my potion's essay."

Blaise considered Hermione for a moment. "Do you need any help with those references you found?"

"Sure."

As one they left, Hermione calling to Harry before exiting the Great Hall. "Good luck with the game!"

He watched them leave, once more glad Hermione had found a friend within her house. According to her, Malfoy and his goons had lightened up since Christmas. It was still a shock for him to learn she had been placed with the snakes. What ambition was driving her? To learn magic? To fit in? He doubted it was the last latter and closer to the former.

Rising from his seat he left the Great Hall, waving to several well-wishers as he left. He still had a few hours to burn before the game. At least an hour before Oliver came looking for him for extra drills before the match, which Harry had no intent of doing. Recently, he had been questioning why he had even joined the team. It had so far been nothing but tense moments with his team and angry words muttered under his breath. He had not been the only one to skip, either. Oliver was becoming desperate to make everyone work as a team, but the harder he pushed the farther they pulled apart.

His wandering legs brought him to the shores of the lake, where he sat and enjoyed the rare hot sun filtering through puffy clouds moving lazily through the blue sky. Thoughts of random idling passed through his mind as he pondered the lake, watching a few second year Slytherins swimming, playing a game with the giant squid. He smiled.

"'ello, may I?"

Harry craned his neck to find Fleur standing over him, framed by the sun's rays. He shrugged off her aura. "I won't stop you." There was a twitch from below his belt, but he managed to quiet that. For now he was wary, wondering what had prompted her to join him.

Fleur sat, leaned back, and kicked off her boots, curling dainty toes between blades of green grass. "It is a beautiful day, non?" She gave him a smoldering smile.

Harry blew out a sigh. He glanced around, checking for any sign of trouble. "Is Roger going to leap out of the lake?"

She chuckled. "Non, me and Roger are finished."

"Good, he was rubbish for you."

"Oh, you have someone better…please don't tell me you? I would 'ate—"

"What?" He waved his hands. "I'm eleven!" Though with her next to him, he would not mind adding a few years to his life. "Besides, Roger would be rubbish for any girl."

Fleur remained silent while Harry began to fidget, he could just not see her angle. "Okay, what's going-on?"

She quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "You are complaining that a beautiful woman is sitting next to you. You believe I have cooties?"

Harry forced a laugh before responding. "Last time you were ready to hex me, this time you're enjoying my company?"

She laughed and it sounded like two glasses kissing. "I was irrational then, feeling very shamed for what you did. I was also angry at Roger; I did not expect a first year to get the better of 'im."

"Apology accepted."

She bristled, straightening up. "That was not an apology."

He gave her a wry grin. "I figure it's the best I'm going to get from you."

She relaxed, blue eyes assessing him coldly. "You do not act your age."

"You've been talking to your sister."

She nodded, her blonde hair turning silver as it caught the rays of the sun. "Oui, she was sad that she lost your friendship."

"So big sister comes, with her aura, trying to seduce the weak-minded first year to go running back to her?" He did not bother keeping the bitterness from his voice.

Fleur was quiet a long moment, blue eyes cast to the rippling shore. "Oui, that is true, but I did not expect my sister's words to be true." She looked to Harry. "It does not matter my intent. My sister is miserable and the last time she tried to apologize you walked away."

_Oh…_ Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Tell her apology accepted. Also, tell her she would be better off not trying to be like you."

"Like moi?"

"Yeah, she's been living in your shadow all year. That's why she befriended me in the first place, thought she could learn some of my 'greatness'." Harry scoffed at the last.

"I see," she spoke slowly, her eyes taking in the lake. "I think I need to spend more time with my sister; it seems I had a bit too much fun with Roger." She gave him a smile touched with guilt. "I think I should not 'ave underestimated you."

"Apology accepted."

Her eyes grew flinty, then mellowed. She left him with a parted wave, leaving him with a sense of accomplishment. Now all he had to do was win the game and claim the cup.

Relaxed and content, Harry laid back in the grass, closing his eyes and letting the soft murmurs of the lake whisper him to sleep.

"Harry!" came a familiar voice walking his way, pulling him from his doze. He turned to find Cedric making his way over. Harry's voice hitched in his throat as a deathly pale face replaced the one looking at him. He drew a shuddering breath and pushed those memories aside. "Hey."

"Fleur said you were over here."

"You two are friends?"

"Just lab partners in Herbology. I've been looking for you all day, and I got lucky to run into her. Can I join you?"

Harry looked to the spot and stood. "No, how about we just go for a walk. I think me being in one spot is a bad idea."

Cedric chuckled, but acquiesced. "Why is that?"

"Because it's about time Oliver started looking for me."

"We still have an hour to go."

"Exactly."

"He's that bad?" Cedric frowned. "I'd heard rumors…"

"Probably not as bad as your thinking, but he has his moments. I figured today would be one of them."

A lull fell between them; it was surprisingly comfortable for Harry, until the memories began to creep back. "So why've you been looking for me?"

"Because I heard about what happened to Roger, and I saw what happened to Trevin."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, those guys were _trying_ to take me out of the game, and they got what they deserved."

"Based on what evidence?" He rounded on Harry, his brown eyes burning with something righteous. This was behavior he had never seen from the one in his memories, who had possessed a gentle nature. It helped separate the two in his mind.

"For Trevin, the fact he hit the bludger _three times_ at my head. Once, accident. Twice...maybe, but not three." Harry stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "And Roger I heard through gossip. Not the most reliable, but most of his team corroborated it." He recalled Blaise's remarks from earlier. "Now my turn. Is your captain planning something stupid?"

Cedric quickly closed his eyes, seeming to reign in his anger. "I'm sorry, I didn't know all that."

_Then don't judge me before you do!_ For the sake of peace, and Cedric seeming like a genuinely nice guy, Harry kept that thought to himself. "You're forgiven. But you're team isn't planning something dumb is it?" he pressed.

Cedric shook his head, his eyes gazing around. He looked unsure. "I think I was rash in coming here."

"I think so, too."

"But, no, we're not trying anything against you. I just wanted to see if it was going to be a clean game." Cedric inclined his head before leaving, quickly trotting away. Neither bothered to say their farewells.

_It's not like I did those things just to be malicious._ He shook his head, clearing the conversation from his mind.

Cedric was yet another lesson that that things that looked the same could still vary. _I wonder how long it will be before I stop making that mistake._

To waste more time, he decided to pace around the lake, wondering how long it would be before his team captain found him. To his surprise it was not too much later that Oliver could be seen storming across the grass, pointing one hand at Harry and yelling. The seeker waved and took off running.

Through the grounds the chase went, passing both surprised and amused students. Oliver Wood caught him under the swinging boughs of Whomping Willow, shouting his name repeatedly. Harry just smiled and rolled under an errant branch. His captain was getting closer, until Harry heard a startled cry following by a thump. He moved out of range of the Willow and looked back, satisfied to see the Keeper moaning on the ground.

He joined his side, peering down. "Ready for the big game?"

"Blast you, Harry; we could be in the air right now drilling. Everybody else is!"

"No, they're not. Without you they're probably just sitting around talking."

Oliver looked crestfallen, but scowled. "And if you had followed me, we'd all be practicing."

Harry only shook his head and helped the captain to his feet, who winced, touching his chest. "Great going, now I'm injured for the game. Maybe Madam Hooch could delay i—"

_Oh no, I'm not dealing with you for another week._ "Let me see," Harry said pulling out his wand.

Oliver gave him a dubious look before taking off his shirt, revealing a dark bruise starting to dominate his ribs. "Do you know what you're doing?"

This was the one subject Harry had been studying on. The helpless feeling he had watching Hagrid nearly bleed to death was not something he wanted to experience again. So he rectified his ignorance. Nothing on the level the school's healer, but he had learned a few tricks.

"_Tilus_," he intoned, gently pressing his wand's tip to Oliver's chest. Sparkles spread across his chest before a dark light engulfed the bruised area.

Harry stepped back, satisfied. "There, good as new."

Cedric felt where the injury had been, stretching his toned body one way then the other. "You're handy to have around. Can't wait to tell the team. Ha! You could save us—"

Harry guiltily looked at the ground. "The team already knows; I've been helping them since winter."

"You have? But I've been going…" Comprehension came to him slowly, and his bright mood plummeted. "You're a right bastard, you know that? You, of everyone, have given me nothing but shit this year."

"Well you haven't been much better. Fucking hell, Wood, ten practices a week?"

"We have to win, and this team isn't anywhere near ready. You guys just don't want to work together!"

Harry clenched his fist. "And screaming and insulting us is going to do that?"

Oliver's eyes blazed. "Nothing else would get through your thick skulls. You're just a bunch of spoiled brats that I have to babysit every week."

With a deep breath, and control he did not think he possessed, Harry managed to calm himself. "Stop being a prat, and we'll listen to you. Now, I'll see you at the pitch in an hour." Turning on his heel, he strode away, waiting for Oliver's parting words.

"If you weren't so bloody good, I'd have you thrown from the team!"

Harry response was to flip him the bird.

XXXXX

The stands were roaring as the Gryffindor Quidditch team walked onto the pitch, people standing and waving their hands. Across them, emerging, was the Hufflepuff team, their captain throwing both of his hands into the air; the cheering intensified. Oliver, not to be outdone, paused, mimicking him, though the crowd's response was disappointing.

Harry stood in the back, dwarfed by his team mates, and rolled his eyes, catching several of them doing so as well.

"Big-headed prat," Angelina muttered before shouldering her way past her captain. The other chasers each shoved him as they walked past. The beaters traded scowls and collected the captain before he unleashed his ire in front of everyone. Harry wished he would, just so everyone would see him being a pain.

Madam Hooch motioned both teams over, saying she expected a nice, clean game. She gave Harry a significant look; he gave her his best smile.

The players mounted their brooms, the balls were released, and the final game of the year began.

Harry shot to the top of the pitch, zooming in front of a Hufflepuff beater to throw him off, giving Angelina a clear shot at the goals. She took it, making the first score of the game. The stands erupted and the Hufflepuffs went on the offensive, using a mixture of beaters and chasers to slowly work their way to Oliver. They had trained hard on their offensive formations, keeping the 'golden girls' from breaking through.

They reached the keeper, shot, and scored. Another round of cheers answered.

Harry left the skirmishing then, eyes seeking Cedric. He found him circling the pitch a little lower than him, doing what seekers did best. He was using a circular movement to patrol, where Harry always had better luck flying in a figure eight. He also tended to fly higher than most, giving him a wider view.

Cedric suddenly shot off towards the pitch, and Harry moved with him, eyes seeking the prize. He saw it near the sidelines, floating innocently in the air. Cedric had the advantage, having been closer by far. Frantic, Harry looked about and his eyes met Fred's. He pointed down and the red-haired teen grinned. He shot down, bat held aloft as a bludger came his way. With a crack, using both hands, he sent it south.

Cedric barely pulled away in time, costing him momentum and distance. He glanced back and tried to regain the lead, but Harry was already by his side, hand outstretched, slowly passing him. Then the quaffle landed in front of them and so did the chasers of both teams. Harry cursed, being buffeted left and right, trying desperately to push his way through. He failed and veered off, spinning his way out of the morass of bodies, eyes seeking…

Nothing. It had disappeared again. He floated up and saw Cedric emerge a moment later laughing, slapping the Hufflepuff captain on the back. They both waved to Harry who shook his head. _What comes around goes around._

A penalty was called against Hufflepuff and Katie took the shot, giving her team another ten points. Then the battle started anew, each side doing their best, but it was becoming very obvious that the Gryffindor team was falling apart. Angelina was barking orders to the other two chasers while Oliver kept contradicting her. Lee was trying to hit the Hufflepuff beaters, but Fred was busy trying to disrupt the Hufflepuff chasers; both were having limited success.

Eventually, the score read ninety to fifty, and Harry had yet to see the snitch again.

"Katie takes the shot. It's intercepted by McGregor who blasts away. That wasn't a very nice gesture Katie gave him, looks like Hooch missed it. Weasley takes out McGregor. About time he hit something, but Turner picks it up. Uh oh, here comes Angelina and she looks pissed. Looks like she doesn't like having the ball taken away without her noticing. Ouch! Hooch blows the whistle, she couldn't miss that foul. And there goes Oliver again; I can almost hear what he's saying up here. There are children listening, you know that, right?"

Harry chuckled at Alex's commentary, finally having learned the boy's name. Apparently, he was not too popular with McGonagall, but the other teachers enjoyed listening.

The game unfolded, the players becoming more intense with their plays and recoveries. Oliver eventually calmed down and stopped letting all the shots through, and the other two chasers finally started listening to Angelina instead of their captain. That was probably why Oliver was silent; he was sulking. As one the girls managed to break several Hufflepuff formations.

The Gryffindor beaters were not faring very well against the Hufflepuff's. It seemed those two seventh years had a lot more experience. Eventually, the score ended up being one-fifty to one-twenty.

That is when Harry spied the snitch, fluttering beside Lee Jordan's left ear. The beater swatted at it, much to Harry's annoyance. Instead of shooting after it, he adjusted his patrol and eased forward, while Lee waited for an opening in the current skirmish for the quaffle.

_Don't move, don't move, don't—_

"You can't fool me, Potter, it looks like you've seen the snitch."

Harry sent a panicked glance at Cedric who was staring back, then at where Harry was heading. His eyes narrowed and he was off.

_Fuck you, Alex!_ Harry braced himself low against his broom and unleashed its speed.

It took Lee four seconds to react as he watched both seekers bearing down on him. He whipped his head to the right and saw the snitch. The fourth year forced his broom down and the snitch raced away, followed seconds later by both seekers, palms open, eyes forward.

"Whoa! Talk about a close one, these guys are neck and neck. Cedric's broom is a year older than Harry's, plus he's a little heavier. I think Potter may get this one, but we all know it comes down to the snitch."

Harry ground his teeth in frustration, wanting nothing more than the announcer to shut it. Ahead, maddeningly just out of reach, the snitch zoomed away, darting left then right, causing him and Cedric to constantly readjust their trajectory. It kept them even.

"It's mine, Harry!" Cedric shouted. Harry ignored him. The snitch adjusted taking a dive.

A bludger sailed his way coming from above, he and Cedric parted instantly as it sailed between them.

"Lee needs to work on his aim!" Cedric cursed as the snitch pulled into the air, ascending vertically.

Harry reacted instantly, pulling his broom up hard in a tight curve. He could feel the strain he placed on the wood, bending as he forced it tighter. Still, he was losing speed, so he spun in the air almost losing his grip and flying off. He felt himself flying vertical and stopped the roll, only momentarily disorientated.

He looked back to see Cedric a few broom lengths behind. Now all he had to do was catch that snitch.

Mind refocused, he reached out his hand, hearing the cheering masses over the roaring wind. Closer and closer until his hand snatched it from the sky.

"He caught the snitch! That's game! Gryffindor wins two—oh no!" The cheering became choked as gasps of surprise rose from the onlookers.

Harry's world was in vertigo as the pain ripping through his body caused him to slide off his broom. He tumbled through the sky, the snitch held tightly in one hand as arcs of black lightning shot from it, dancing about his prone body. With each strike he jerked and spasmed, desperately trying to rid himself of the snitch, but his efforts failed. He glanced down and saw the approaching ground, both wishing and fearing for the oblivion to come.

He struck and his vision went black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN::** I've come to the realization that the tone and writing I am doing is subpar to my usual work. I've tried a more casual hand with the characters and tone, much to the detriment of the last chapter. Nothing much changed in this one save I tightened up several of the more bland exposition, which is why it took longer to post. Needless to say, the shit just hit the fan and it's mostly downhill from here. I'm still having problems with Hermione-Blaise and Harry interactions, not sure how they would act around him. I've got their own dynamic down, just not how he fits in besides the token, we're friends bs. Will need to work on that next year.

Cedric I hope was done differently, and I hope I gave Fleur better characterization this chapter other than of scorned woman. I finally got Harry's character down in my head and where I will be taking him. Different than canon, but not too far down a beaten path as I did in The Lies that Bind. Also, hard to tell, but the bathroom scene in the last chapter will have its uses next year. Just a little hint that I do have things pretty far planned out ahead of time.

One last thing. This officially ends year one, with all its bumps and stretch ways. Year 2 is only one third the way done, with a lot higher word count going for it. I've stalled on it, reworking a few scenes here and there in the beginning. So it may be a month or so before I begin posting on this. Rest assured, the writing will be considerably better as I won't be rushing so much through things, but damn it's hard not to make most of year one filler. So, any overall thoughts on Year 1 would be appreciated. any concerns voiced or specific critiques will also be read with relish.

So thanks for reading so far.

-byl, out.


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